


Third Degree

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interrogation, M/M, Mind Rape, Rape by third party, Shades of grey morality, Slow Burn, Violence, resistance!Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 74
Words: 177,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux is the Resistance's go-to man when they need answers. And when they want something... that isn't entirely nice.</p><p>When the Resistance captures General Organa's son, he's called upon to help deal with the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

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Hux knows that General Organa doesn’t approve of him. It’s obvious in the way her eyes narrow _just so_ , and her lips thin _like that_ when she looks at him. He’s read enough faces over the years to understand when his talents are considered distasteful.

They’ve often been considered distasteful. 

They’re also considered _essential_. One of those things people like to pretend _they’re above_  until they aren’t. 

Hypocrites. Hux does not like hypocrites. He’d rather deal with a psychopath who was honest than a ‘good’ man (or woman) who didn’t own up to the harsh realities of life. Being able to judge when someone isn’t being honest with him means he can’t be around people all that much. It’s a constant disappointment for him, and a source of existential dread for others. He’s more often alone than not, now. It’s okay. It’s better off this way.

Hux performs an essential function. If sentient life worked on magical, smooth, well-oiled joints and never creaked, groaned, stuck or went backwards… men (or women) like him would not be needed.

But they were. He was. He _is_.

Of course, she - of all people - has more reason to flinch in his presence than most. She’s seen what happens when he’s in a room with someone. _She’s seen what happens when someone worse than him is in a room with someone_. Few people can have come out the other side of an Imperial interrogation room with all their limbs intact.

And that was just the _external_ parts. Hux knows from experience that in some ways, you never leave that room. Not if he does his job right.

“I have… to ask for your help,” she says, and she doesn’t make a lie of her disgust.  


He appreciates it. She tries to curtail the depth of her derision, but she doesn’t conceal the existence of it.

“Who’ve you got for me?”  


The pause is what catches his attention, makes this more… interesting.

“My son.”  


***

Hux does his research on this one. Usually, his targets are the slightly harder-to-crack, but he hasn’t come across a soul he couldn’t have singing like a bird in a week, without even knowing their name. 

He’s good at what he does. It’s why he’s the one they call in these kind of situations. Like it or not, there’s often a time-bound element to captives, or to new recruit testing. Intelligence goes stale faster than bread, and they simply can’t afford to lose it. When he’s vetting a new volunteer, he has to make efficient use of their resources to test just _how much_ they can be trusted with.

It does raise the question in his head of who vets him, because he’s never felt like he’s been tested. Of course, they could just use holo-surveillance and feed it to someone he never meets, but there’s nothing _quite_ like the face-to-face element.

Still. He’s clearly passed the highest level of vetting (or is the only one they haven’t yet tried) if he’s been given the General’s wayward _son_.

Hux knew as much as everyone else before he was given the dossier, and it only adds a few more details and dispels some of the rumours.

 _Ben Organa-Solo_. He went by that name. His parents kept their respective surnames (two Generals Solo would be confusing, plus he suspects Leia Organa would rather have her husband change than lose her link to her parents), but their first and only child had fused them together. 

Born in the aftermath of the fall of the Empire. Likely born _because_ of the fall of the Empire. There were a lot of children with similar birthdays to him, after all. Hux knows he wasn’t one of them because he’s got a few years on them.

Plus, you know. His father.

Anyway, the less said about _him_ the better. 

The man (he’s a man, now) doesn’t go by that name any longer. Kylo. What the hell kind of name is Kylo? It’s not even pronounced with a ‘kill’ in there (which seems to be the level of his psychological maturity), followed by ‘Ren’. The Ren comes from his mystical order of Knights, apparently, so that one he can’t criticise. Kylo. Two syllables, short and sweet. 

It’s obviously going to be an in with him. Hux has to think which will be the most effective opening gambit: get him on his side by acknowledging his name of choice, or ‘deadname’ him, and refuse his current identity?

Quite often he needs to disrupt the person quickly, but this… his brief isn’t really to bring home the intelligence, but to try something else instead. He’s sure any intel would be suspect, no matter what methods Hux could use on him. It’s not a cracking open his skull his mother wants, but her son.

Hux isn’t too sure her son even exists any more, but he’ll have to speak to the man to see if it’s true or not. 

The file is impersonal, inhuman. It lists facts, but not the gritty reality he sees between the lines. A timeline of events, with the gut feeling gone.

You can read ‘age fifteen’ and think of it simply as a number that follows fourteen, as a three-times-five, or five-times-three. But if you forget what fifteen _felt like_ , it doesn’t give you the complete picture.

Fifteen. Hormones. Angst. Changes. A body ravaged by puberty, a world shifting from innocence to something noxious. A time when friends were vital, but the boy…

He’d already been sent away, hadn’t he? To the uncle. Uncle.

Luke Skywalker. Jedi. Hux has never met a real Jedi, not to his knowledge. He knows the stories (the public ones), the ones which feature Luke dead centre, along side Leia and her errant husband. These people are larger-than-life creatures of legend and myth, and flesh and blood and fallible, all the same. 

He knows. He’s met Leia. An impressive and imposing woman, despite her stature. She claims a room when she enters, and she commands with surety… but she has shadows in her eyes, and pain in her voice. 

It must have been hard growing up as their son, as Luke Skywalker’s nephew. Talk about a legacy to live up to… and that’s his in. That’s where he’ll start.

***

He’s in a transparent cage. 

Like an animal, on display. A huge, open-fronted affair. A theatre, with the fourth wall tangible, there for all to see.

It’s a power-rhetoric, and one he understands well. 

Behind the transparisteel, there’s a simple cot without any sheets (can’t provide him with ligature points or tools), and that’s it. No chair. No table. 

A very, very small toilet and sink in one corner, which Hux is sure only lets water flow when externally approved. He squints and sees to the side of that there’s a very small sign of a sonic shower, and the only door is airlocked, like a spaceship. Food goes in through there, then. 

There are worse places to be kept, but only superficially. There’s no stimulation here, and that will chip away at him. Few people can cope with true deprivation, and it takes a certain mentality to come out the other side. Those who do often do so at the cost of much of their socialisation, reverting to the inside of their mind and remaining there.

The notes didn’t tell him how long Kylo Ren had been waiting to see him. The notes also didn’t tell him _how_ he came to be here, or who had spoken to him. He’d asked, but he’d been refused. Naturally.

The notes _had_ told him that the Force-user would be sedated to a level that verbal conversation was possible (if buggy), but his ‘other’ abilities would be rendered impotent. 

Hux wonders how accurate that statement is. If his Force-powers truly rival those of the late Darth Vader, then how can they be sure? Ren could be biding his time until he sees an out. He’ll have to assess for that.

He walks up to the window. Ren lies on his side, his back to the transparisteel. Hux has made sure he’ll hear him, so he knows that if he’s awake he’ll be aware of his presence. 

Hux does not sit. He wants the other to know that, if he turns. He’ll stand, and he’ll wait. 

Ren does not move. Hux lifts his wrist, and sets his chrono. He’s setting aside an hour each day for the time being, and if it takes a month - a year - that’s fine. He sets the timer going, then clasps his hands behind his back. Ren doesn’t move, other than the steady inflation-deflation of his lungs. Hux watches, and wonders if the other can feel his thoughts through the drugs or not? If so, all he’ll feel is the steady counting of the minutes. Hux knows precisely how long a second is (and how many seconds it takes to lose consciousness, to lose life). 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The timer buzzes.

Hux turns and walks out, knowing it will confuse the other.

That’s the point.

***

This process repeats for three days, setting the standard. He comes at different times during each day, but he does the same every time. Ren doesn’t turn until the time is almost spent on the third day, rolling over to challenge his eyes.

Hux meets them. He says nothing.

Buzz. Buzz.

He turns to leave.

“Really?” the incredulous voice asks.  


“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Hux tells him, and leaves.  


Step one.

***

Ren doesn’t look on day four, but on day five the sound of footfall makes him turn.

He looks terrible. The sedatives they’re pumping him with give him an unreal rest, a false sense of calm. His eyes are baggy and his hair lanky. The face underneath both is severe and sharp, and eerily reminiscent of both parents. There’s no hint of humour to the brow, the lips, the eyes. He’s _miserable_ , and Hux can understand that.

“Do you prefer Ren, or Kylo?” he asks, giving him some small sense of choice, of power.  


It baffles him, and he watches the mechanics whirr inside the man’s skull. He was expecting _Ben_ , or an imposed handle, wasn’t he?

“Ren,” he says, eventually.  


“Hux,” Hux replies. No need for forenames or for rank in here. Hux does _have_ one, but it’s moot. He’s got incredibly high personal scope, much like a doctor does. In his area of expertise, what he says, goes. End.   


Not to mention Ren is outside of the rank structure, here. Outside of everything. A title would be moot, would be more for Hux himself than for Ren, and Hux doesn’t need it.

“What have they told you?” the Knight asks, rolling back away from him.   


“Plenty. But I suspect your version of things will be different.”  


“Don’t patronise me.”  


“I’m not. You’re a smart man, but so am I.”  


Ren’s shoulders tighten. “Tell her she should just execute me, instead of keeping me here like this.”  


Interesting. “Who?”  


“Don’t play coy with me: I told you not to patronise me.”  


“Alright… but why would your mother want to execute you?”  


“Because I’m no longer her son.”  


“I don’t think it works like that.” It does, in a way. Hux himself is no longer _his_ son. Or… he is, and he isn’t. It’s one of those places where the complexity of reality is more than a yes-no answer can cover. Absolutes aren’t always… hah… absolutely correct.  


Silence stretches, then, and Hux lets it for a while. The fact that Kylo already welcomes (or pretends to welcome, and challenges) death says a lot about how low he really is. It’s a cry for help, of course. If he wanted to end it, even with this small, soft-edged cell, there were always ways. 

Of course, those ways were not always easy to stomach. And if you got them wrong, or were stopped before it was too late, the consequences of survival were pretty bleak. He makes a note to ask them to _never_ leave him unsupervised, even by holo-recorder with a sentient on the other side of the lens.

“I’m not going to change.”  


“How do you know that? Didn’t you change once, before?”  


Kylo’s eyes **blaze** , then. “So my decision is an informed one.”

“I see. Even though you made it before the legal age of–”  


“Get out.”  


“My time isn’t up.”  


“ _Get out_.”  


Hux refuses. They stare at one another for a long time, then Ren turns away again. 

Hux waits until his time is up, and then he leaves.

Step two.

***

The next time, Hux enters Kylo’s room. He walks straight for the airlock, and goes through it into the chamber beyond.

He goes unarmed. He’s not an idiot. There’s enough knock-out gas in the canisters attached to the cell’s filtration unit to see to them both, and it kicks in fast. 

Kylo remains on the other side of the room, not coming towards him. He’s obviously wary, and he plasters himself against the wall like a cornered animal.

 _So very, very telling_. Ren draws himself up tall, but it’s the mechanism of a prey-animal, not a predator. **Back off. I bite. I swear.**

It’s almost too easy. How has anyone ever missed this? Ren’s all hot air.

“I’m just here to talk.”  


“I thought we were doing just fine before.”  


“Some things are easier face to face.” Pause. “You can sit down, if you like.”  


“I’d rather not.”  


Hux shrugs, and does sit down. On the edge of the cot, lifting one boot up and resting it on his knee, clasping his hands in front of him.

“You do know what I’m capable of, right?”  


Hux normally does not do this, but this is a different thing, isn’t it? “I know what you think you’re capable of. But you’re not, are you? That’s why you’re in here. You let yourself get caught, clipped, caged.”

“Fuck. You.” Anger, and the taller man swells. 

Something distant crackles, and Hux lifts a hand in a _no: stop_  gesture at the watching staff.   


“I’m here to break you, Kylo Ren. I’m here to break you back to what you were. And I’ll do it. I’ll pull you apart, piece by piece. I’ll rip you into shreds, and leave you lying on the floor.”  


“ _Fuck you, I’ll never–”_  


“And then, when you’re broken down… when you’re back to the primordial sludge I turn you into… _you’ll have that choice of yours. Repeat, or repent.”_  


He knows this is when Kylo will go for him, and he’s prepared. The man is bulky and has the advantage of weight and muscle-mass, even caged as he is. Hux, however, has speed on his side. The punch that comes for him is deflected, the second one dodged, and then he has to duck in to get his blow to Kylo’s side. He takes a swipe to his head, and repays it with a stomp on Ren’s instep.

Things get messier from then on in, until the gas swallows them both up whole.

Step three.


	2. Chapter 2

Hux does not go back until the marks Kylo got in have faded. It’s a matter of principle. 

First, you establish dominance. Second, rapport. Third, you set the rules of engagement. Fourth is following through on that, whilst reinforcing your control and power. Of course, he normally works faster, but that’s with less high value targets. 

Ren has had the same routine since he left, with no variance at all. His meals delivered by droids, his light-and-dark artificially imposed. Hux has orchestrated it all. 

His mother comes to ask about the progress, of course, in the interim.

“It’s progressing,” is all he will say.  


“But is he… is he… listening?”  


“It’s too early to say, but I’ll make him listen.”  


“Do… do you think I should…?”  


Hux shakes his head. “You brought me in for a reason. You never reached him through all these years, so you _know_ you need a different tack.”

“But…” Leia sighs. “You’re right.”  


Of course he is. But it doesn’t pay to kick the boss in the teeth when she’s down. “I’ll–” break “–get your son back.”

“Alright.”  


It’s as much a confidence trick on her as anyone else.

***

“Do you really think you’re any better than the Order?” Ren asks, when Hux next arrives. “Is the white of your walls somehow a moral rectitude?”  


“Did I say it was?”  


“If you want to win me over, shouldn’t you convince me of why your side is any better?”  


“Very well: we don’t oppress other species. We also vote for our leaders.”  


“In rigged elections that are skewed towards the rich, not the skilled.”  


“See, you already know the dialogue. So why are we bothering?” Hux examines his clean nails, bored.  


“It’s–”  


“You don’t need me to tell you what’s on this side of the window,” he replies, tapping it with one knuckle. “You know. ‘Informed decision’, remember? That’s what you told me, isn’t it?”  


“So how do you think you’re going to change my mind?”  


“I’m not.”  


Hux waits, then looks up. Ren is frustrated, but also interested. Of course. 

“You’ll change your mind. Like you did the last time. That is… if you _did_ change your mind the last time…”  


“Of course I did.”  


“Of course you did.”  


The time is not up. Hux leaves.

***

He changes things, then. Light and dark no longer follow a set cycle, and they tumble in and out of one another. The temperature slips up and down, just a few degrees. Food gets leaner, and further apart.

Nothing outside of the ‘limits’, but enough to unsettle him. To remind him who is in control. He does this, and he doesn’t visit. He doesn’t visit until Kylo starts to lose it, to beat his fists on the fourth wall, to scream in anger and frustration.

He doesn’t even go then. He lets him break a little more.

“You’re just as bad as them!” Kylo screams.   


“You’re cowards!” Kylo howls.  


“You’re scum!” Kylo insists.  


Hux lets him.

Lets him, until Kylo is curled into a corner on his bed. Until Ren’s body shakes and shivers, and until he’s rocking himself back and forth.

Hux enters, and grabs Ren by the hair. (He hopes General Organa has the sense not to watch, but he knows she will. As long as she doesn’t execute him for this…) Ren’s hands come up, clawing at his fingers, but he’s feeling weakened and he lets himself be dragged to the centre of the room. Pushed face-first into the window. Hux smears his face into the transparent material, and grabs his wrist to push it up and between his shoulders.

“Let me go!”  


“If this side is as bad as the other, why do you want to leave?”  


“Fuck you!”  


“Explain it to me.”  


Ren tries to fight, but he’s weakened. Weakened, and weakening. His hand behind his head, grabbing Hux’s hair. “Because they gave me power.”

“Power? The power to remain free?”  


“And _freedom_ , yes.”  


“So you were free, there? You had no controls, no rules, no obligations?”  


“You’re a fucking–”  


“Answer me.”  


Kylo doesn’t, so Hux yanks his head back, then slams his forehead into the window. 

“Yes!”  


“What did they offer you, to turn?”  


“Well, they didn’t starve me half to death!”  


“So a sandwich and you’re anyone’s?” He tuts, and slams Kylo into the window again. “Such a cheap sell-sword.”  


“You don’t understand the _Force!”_  


“Nor do I need to. You don’t have it in here, remember? Which is why you’re still here. Tell me, is that why they targeted you? Because of the Force?”  


He’s hit something on the head, there, because Ren _stiffens_ in his arms, the flinch reaction going all the way into his core. He’s hit the nerve on the head, and he has to keep pounding.

“How did it start? How did he approach you? Did he send you a business card one day? Did it come in a cereal box, when you were still a snivelling little brat? Did you wet yourself with anticipation?”  


“ **SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP**.”  


Even through the sedation, Hux can feel the prickle of Ren’s mind against his own. His hair stands on end, and he’s getting to a snapping point, already. He really is easy to flick on-and-off, isn’t he?

“What’s wrong? Did he tell you it was your shared, little secret? That you were special? That he chose you, and no one else could know?”  


Hux is surprised when he goes flying backwards, shoved by invisible hands. He watches as Ren goes down to his knees from the effort, blood dripping from his nose. He kneels, swaying, staring down at the bloody mess. 

“Pinch it,” Hux orders.  


“ _Go away_.”  


“Pinch it, or I’ll do it myself.”  


Ren considers his options before he pinches the bridge of his nose. His head presses into the window, and he slumps forwards.

“You do know what he did to you, don’t you? You know.”  


“He gave me power, and freedom.”  


“Freedom?”  


“To feel.”  


“You think you couldn’t feel, here?”  


Brown eyes meet his own, achingly sore. “They sent me off to _him_. To _Luke_. What do you think?”   


“I think your mother has the Force, and she loves. She loved your father. She loves you.”  


“And look where it got us all. Han Solo is dead, and so is his son.”  


“Don’t count him out so quickly,” Hux says. “I’ll get a Bacta pack sent in. Let the droid heal you, and you can sleep properly tonight.”  


“Fuck you.”  


Hux leaves.

***

Two chairs and a table. It’s not much of a concession, but it’s one he grants, all the same. They sit face to face, and Ren doesn’t want to look at him.

Hux is still working out the details of this. Normally, when he breaks someone, they’re supposed to stay broken. He isn’t breaking bones to reset, he’s breaking them to get to the marrow. 

This is different. 

He suspects the psychs had their go first, and failed. He can see why.

This is a man who broke once before, long ago. Who broke under what seems to have been intense pressure. Who can’t be bandaged back together again simply, and who needs someone who will not pull their punches. 

Hux has never pulled his punches.

Kylo Ren needs to _break_. Hux isn’t sure if he’ll ever mend half-way right or not. What Leia wants might have died fifteen years ago. Psyches that young are strange. They process things differently (Hux _knows_ ), and his skillset might make the problem worse in the long run. Who’s to say he’ll stay this way? What if he’s made weaker, turned into a perpetual motion machine?

Here, there, here, there…

“What kept you from coming home?”  


“You mean other than the mass genocide?” He knows it’s wrong, or he wouldn’t say that.  


Hux waits.

“I mean it,” Ren says. “But wait… don’t you go in for that, too? How many people were murdered on the Starkiller?”  


Hux, of course, had little to do with that. “You’ve not given me any kind of logical explanation as to why you stayed with the First Order.”  


“You’ve not given me any kind of logical reason why I wouldn’t,” Ren counters.  


Oh, but he’s a smart one.

“You have family, here. Family who love you.”  


“Love is petty.”  


“So are you.”  


Ren almost smiles, then, and it’s nice to see he’s got a keen sense of irony, even now. He’s still _Human_ , in some respects. That’s the most tragic part of it. If he’d been turned into an unfeeling monster, a killing machine… well. Machines could be de-activated, or reprogrammed. Something with thought, with wit, with feeling… it’s another kind of machine, and one much more prone to glitch and failure.

And feeling.

“He hasn’t protected you. He hasn’t kept you safe. You’re here, right now.”  


“I wasn’t safe here, either,” Kylo admits, agreeing, in principle, that he needed to be. Some progress.  


“That was before, and times have changed.”  


“Right.”  


“He can’t reach you now, can he?” Hux isn’t actually sure, but he’s pretty certain Ren would have made a song and dance about it if he could.  


“Undrug me, uncage me, and we’ll see.”  


Worth a shot of him.Even if it might well be true. Hux rolls his eyes, then shakes his head. “What did he promise you?”

“Power. Power and… freedom.”  


“And now, now do you think he’s given you those things? Do you think he will take you back, if you could ever escape?”  


No. That’s the answer unspoken across his face, before words come out. He is sure he’s damaged goods, now. In a sense, he always has been. Hux reads it in the terror-stricken widening of his eyes, the rush-to-black of his pupils dilating, then contracting. Involuntary, and too fast to be aped.

Ren knows he’ll never be–

“Why would anyone trust me?”  


On either side, is the unspoken addendum. It’s an opening, even if it isn’t meant as one. “You were broken, Ren. You can be broken again.”

“As I said: _why would anyone trust me_?”  


“Because you’ll put yourself back together this time. I’m not interested in which way you do it, even though my boss is. I’m interested in what _you_ will do.” Not entirely true. He does have a vested interest in seeing the man pick the ‘right’ side, after all.  


But it won’t mean a thing if it’s isn’t wanted, isn’t what he’s aiming for. If Ren doesn’t want to change, any new shape he’s bent into will only last until he’s thrown back into the flames again.

“You’re selling nothing better than the Leader.”  


“Oh, I’m selling _true_ freedom. That’s the difference. You _can_ say no. You can pick, but only when you’re ready.”  


“If you abuse me hard enough, how do you know that’s really me choosing, really my choice? It’s a reaction. That’s not choice. It’s coercion. I know the difference.”  


“Who says any of our choices are really our choices?” Hux asks in return, though he agrees in a way. “We have our histories. Our links. Our connections. Our fears. Our worries. Our wants. At what point are they _ours_?”  


“Does she know what you did to me?”  


“Not in specifics, no.”  


“Do you think she’d sanction it?”  


“Depends which definition of the word you’re using,” he replies, head to one side, wondering if that slip was deliberate or not.  


From the cog wheels whirring momentarily in his eyes, no. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit of a bastard?”

“I’m offended. I’m a _lot._ I don’t do things by half, Ren.”  


“You’re talking in circles. I’m never going to come back, not willingly. And if you’re watching this,” the Knight says, rising from the chair and moving to talk right to the window… “ **You should just kill me. Do you hear? Because I won’t be your slave. I won’t be your pet. I won’t. Stop being a coward and kill me. I’d do you the same courtesy**.”  


“Sit down, Ren.”  


“ **You’re a coward. A COWARD. You don’t want to admit you fucked up, do you? You can’t face me? You can’t let everyone know the great war General could** –”  


Hux moves fast. He launches at him, taking the taller man by surprise. Elbow between shoulders, smacking Kylo’s face into the window, and then he throws him sideways and _down_. Ren already half wants to die, and Hux does not. That’s the key to winning: _wanting it enough_. He avoids the worst of the elbows and knees in his direction, chokes his arm across Ren’s throat and uses the crook of his elbow to tame him, like breaking in a wild Tauntaun. 

Kylo bucks. He doesn’t like the ignominy of being ridden like this, but Hux knows a part of him craves it, too. Craves being subjugated. Craves being able to point to someone else and say: _it was them. It was their fault. It was not me_.

(It’s a delicious proposition, the oblivion of innocence. The safety of being irresponsible. It is also untenable, and dangerous.)

Hux grabs hair, yanks, pulls until he hears whimpers of pain. “Grow the fuck up, Ren. You’re an adult, now. You really need to scream for your mother?”

“FUCK YOU.”  


“Snoke isn’t here. He won’t save you. He doesn’t care. But there’s people here who–”  


“THEY DON’T CARE ABOUT ME. IF THEY CARED ABOUT ME, THEY WOULD COME TALK TO ME. BUT THEY WON’T. BECAUSE THEY KNOW I’M A MONSTER.”  


“Why do you think you’re a monster?”  


“ _Who the fuck else kills as many people as me_?”   


“I seem to remember you saying we were ‘just as bad’?”  


Kylo bucks again, and Hux lets him expend more energy. 

“Ren. You’re going to break. You already broke once. You know what can happen if you fight it too long, don’t you? You know I’ll employ techniques almost as in-depth as he did.”  


A laugh. “You have no idea.”

Oh, didn’t he? Before he can help it, Hux lets that rile him. Professional pride, and that selfish flicker inside: _so you think you had it worse than me_. He rarely lets a mark get under _his_ skin, but there’s similarities here that–

“Enlighten me.”  


“You can’t get in my head. Or my dreams.”  


Oh. No. Hux can’t. Not… “Not the same way. But I can slip myself into your consciousness enough that–”

“ _It isn’t the same as a voice that never goes away, even when you try to sleep_ ,” he hisses, shaking from head to toe between Hux’s thighs.   


He… did that? On the one hand: Hux is envious. To be able to so deeply affect another sentient life-form that you could control their very inner world, and know you’d done it…

And. Well.

The other thing.

Kylo stops fighting, and Hux gently eases off him, moving to sit on the floor. 

“You really think a few black eyes or choke-holds are anything like what _he_ did to me?” Ren asks, as he moves gingerly to sit on his own ass. His long limbs pull in around him, though there’s no making someone of his dimensions ‘small’. “And what the fuck do you even think you’re doing? Trying to trigger me into a meltdown?”  


“My skills normally only need to get us a short window into someone,” Hux admits. “Not destroy the door and hang a new one.”  


“Could you practice on someone not me?”  


“It’s made you talk to me.” So it’s working in a way.   


Ren drops his face into his knees. “You… fine. Ask. Ask what you want. You’re not going to go away, and I’m tired of fighting.”

Now they’re getting somewhere. Hux brushes the momentary self-doubt about his methods away, focusing on the goal. “What did he really offer you?”

“The pain to stop. Power. Control. A place where I… fit in.”  


“You didn’t fit in. It’s pretty clear, even to me.”  


“I didn’t fit in here, either,” Kylo shrugs. “I’m not like them. I’m not… good and noble and true. I’m…”  


“You think they’re constantly perfect?” Hux pushes. “Your mother recruited an interrogator to break her son back. She’s not some perfect statue, capable of anything. She couldn’t even keep _you_ with her.”  


“ _Because I’m wrong_.”  


“No, because she failed.” Hux slides his palms over his boots, easing his legs crossed in front of him. “She failed. And so did her psychs. And all she had left is someone who knows that their normal marks quite often die shortly after talking to him.”  


The Knight looks anywhere but at him.

“We’re all just trying our best, Kylo.” He smooths his hands down from knee to ankle, and back up again. There’s some lint near his knee. He plucks it off. “Whatever he’s told you, you can’t believe it’s true.”  


“And why should I believe you?” he asks, head snapping up, now.  


“Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe you have to make your own damn mind up.”  


“And how can I if you keep me caged up here?”  


Hux thinks about this. “You want a walk outside?”

“See. You’re bribing me.”  


“If I let you go right now… what would you even do? You know if you go back he’ll have you tortured to see if you broke, to re-align you back to what he wants. If he’s as bad as you say he is, he’ll go harder on you.”  


Kylo doesn’t want to play, then. He shakes his head and turns away. Hux isn’t done, not yet. He tries not to let his own irritation show.

“Do you want this to hurt more?”  


“Does it even fucking matter?” Kylo asks. “Maybe I should just stop fighting and pretend I’m on whoever’s side has me at any given moment. Maybe I _should_ be on their side. It’s not like I’m any use to anyone. I’m a walking, ticking time-bomb. The minute you toss me over the wall, I blow up all over again and give away everything I’ve learned.”  


This is trickier than Hux expected. Kylo Ren is too self-aware, too conscious of his role and his psyche. Too in tune with reality to ever live the life of a fantasist for long. 

Torture won’t work. Hux thought maybe it would, if he could apply it right. Press just enough to open his insides out, and then lay a breadcrumb trail back to the Happy Clappy Fields of Resistance Fun.

He’s finding out so much, but it’s throwing up problems he lacks solutions to. This is going to reveal as much about Hux to himself as it does Ren to him. Pain and threats won’t work. Appealing to moral codes won’t work. Appealing to family links won’t work. Pointing out the insecurity of his old position won’t work. He’s coming up with more ‘nos’ than ‘maybes’, and not one ‘yes’. 

“What is it you really want?” he asks, going for broke.  


Go big, or go home.

Kylo’s brow wrinkles at the question. “You to fuck off and leave the door open?”

“Them. The Order. A life under Snoke.”  


Kylo’s eyes close harshly, and tears glint on his long, doe-like lashes. “What I want doesn’t matter. Not to you, not to him, not to anyone.”

Hux takes that, but it hurts, somewhat. This is... different.

Kylo Ren isn’t quite the monster he’d been brought up to believe in. He’s not a man foaming at the mouth with his dogged, murderous loyalty to a genocidal cause. He’s nothing like... nothing like _Brendol Hux_. He’s a wreck.

He’s what people must be like, when he’s finished with them.

Hux doesn’t like that thought.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”  


“Yeah. M-- _she_ would kill you if you gave up.”  


“So she still cares.”  


“Only for her pride.”  


Hux starts to neaten up his clothes, his hair. “If it was her pride, don’t you think she’d have had you ‘accidentally’ killed? This way... someone gets to listen to all her sins.”

Kylo won’t answer, now, and Hux thinks it’s enough for one day.

If nothing else, _he_ needs a stiff drink. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor content warning for self-medicating alcohol use, but not addiction.

Hux goes back to his room. He doesn’t often drink (not any more), so he’s got less of a tolerance for it, and it’s better all around if he expunges this need in private. 

Alcohol brings truths to the surface, quite often. He’s used that to his advantage in the past. Watered-down liquor for him, slight of hand and an open bar tab to get people’s lips sloppy enough to slur secrets. He’s not above such tactics, when the result is important enough. Some of the dumb saps don’t even know they’ve been played.

But it’s dangerous. If you drink yourself, and don’t sip the alcohol-free ones, the ones made to mimic the smell and taste and have none of the systematic depression… it is. 

Hux is not one of life’s happy drunks. He might pretend like he is for a while, let his lips curl in the agreed-upon social cue for ‘I am having a relatively good lark’, but he’s not. He’s more of the… stare into the amber (or red, or blue, or green, or–) liquid, imagining infinity and him king of it. Asking things that feel like they verge on the Question - the _single, most important Question, which, having been answered, would make sense of all_ \- but are actually inane nonsense; a collection of garbled half-thoughts and wrongly-parsed words.

Alcohol brings out the worst in many people. If he drinks beyond the foolosopher stage, then… then. Then he’s more likely to pick a fight (and he has to admit it’s what he does, they don’t _find him_ ), punch someone (or miss), and attempt to find the nearest (different) holes for urinating down on and ejaculating into respectively. Not that he _can_ perform when he’s paralytic, but that’s never stopped him trying.

It is hard to command anyone’s respect if they’ve seen you pissing against a wall, holding onto it so you don’t fall over. Hard to be the ineffable question yourself if they heard you asking why cheese is round and not the more tessellatory square. And why is it called _cheese_ in the first place?

Which is why the bottle is in his room, now. It’s in his room where he can turn off all comms devices capable of _sending_ , and drink himself wobbly where the ‘fresher is within piss-needing or vomit-urging distance. Where he can pass out without fear of his bodily self being abused by strangers (or… the reverse), and where he can try to wank furiously to holo-porn and not suffer the double shame of erectile dysfunction _and_ failing to satisfy a partner. 

He needs. To drink.

The first two slugs in the glass are fragrant and welcoming, but the burn as he swallows them down is less so. He’s never really enjoyed the sensation of it, just the side-effects.

Right now he wants his mind to numb, and it won’t. He has the kind of mind that won’t numb easily, won’t take in the opiate of the masses and wander. He needs to distract it from the session until it’s time to process what happened, but it _just will not shut the fuck up_.

You have to have a healthy amount of denial to do what he does. You have to be goal-orientated. You have to see your marks as not _people_ , but tasks. It’s how you keep at it. Treat their minds and neuroses and tics and tells as little puzzles to be unlocked, like a computer game. Slide this here, and the ball drops down. Press on Daddy Issue, receive Confession. Cause, effect. He knows the insides of people’s heads intimately well, and yet…

…does he? Because surely a sane, healthy individual wouldn’t be able to do what he does? That’s why they recoil from him, when they think he isn’t looking. They know he would sell them all down-stream for the slightest of errors. (Okay. Ones worth selling them out. He’s not vindictive, just pragmatic.) They know he’s different, they know he’s… warped.

And he’s let Kylo Ren under his skin. For whatever reason, the connection’s going both ways for a change. Hux is more than pleased to let his marks imprint upon him, to seek to curry his favour. He works with that happily, even makes sure it occurs. But Kylo is more… complicated than his normal subjects, and he’s having to dig deeper in, and desperately shield himself from the man’s own perceptions. Force or not right now, Kylo’s likely been inside as many heads as he has, and he knows enough to set Hux’s hooks seeking a home.

This is unprofessional in the extreme. He’s just…

Is he even… is he even capable of this job? The next three slugs go down his throat faster. Has his arrogance finally met its match? Because it might have. Everyone hits a ceiling, right? You get to the peak of your game, and you stop. Your legs will only run so fast, your mind will only think so deeply. He’d thought he’d been playing Ren - riding his insecurities to success - but it’s as likely it’s the other way around. 

He’s read the file. High emotional instability, but an incredible ability to empathise and relate. Deep attachment issues. Charisma, even if he’s not using it in the traditional sense. Huge life-experience, both before he left and after. Connections to key personnel on both sides of the fence. Technical know-how; Resistance - no -  _Rebellion_ -honed skills at improvising. Force-powers (goes without saying); physical conditioning (one look and he could tell). 

Kylo Ren is - by all accounts - almost the perfect specimen for nearly every occasion. A silver tongue: half-smuggler, half-politician. Make-do-and-mend skills. Combat prowess. Diplomatic experience. A vast, galaxy-spanning network of knowledge and contacts. He’s _valuable_ even without the in-depth knowledge he must have of the Order’s inner workings and ethos. He’s… he’s everything you could want…

…if you could ever remove the hair-trigger temper, and you didn’t mind that he’d slaughtered countless thousands. Okay, maybe the deaths themselves weren’t the problem, but the exigent circumstances around those deaths. 

He leans back in his chair, feeling the motion continue long past his actual sway. One eye lags a little when he blinks, and everything feels… _sticky_. All the way down to the roots of his hair. Sticky. Heat like a blanket of honey plastered over his pores, and his stomach reminds him he hasn’t eaten in hours, but that doing so now would be a challenging affair. Treacherous gut. 

Kylo Ren had everything. _Everything_. Heroes for parents. Born on the winning side. The grace of strong genes. A network of support. A talent beyond most people’s ken. A life others would kill for - and many tried. No. _Ben Organa-Solo_ had had those things: he’d been born in the cradle of victory to champions. In a way, Hux resents him that. History is written by the victors, and all. Hux had been weaned on tales of glory stolen, of a state he should pay no mind to. He’d known the ‘oppression’ that Kylo’s parents had, but instead of rebelling against it, he’d… switched sides.

Would he have switched sides if the ‘good’ guys were the underdogs? If the so-called morally rect, democracy-worshipping Republic-Rebellion-Resistance were still losing, crushed under an Imperial boot? He’ll never know, will he? He’ll never know if there could be a version of him in charcoal-and-black. Swearing fealty to a distant, malevolent (benevolent?) Leader. He likes to think he’s above all that, that the truth of what is _good_ and _right_ and _proper_ would ring louder than any superficial note of _winning…_ but he can’t be sure. 

Not truly. He’d be able to sway Kylo back, if he was convinced enough. If he just… tried hard enough to understand why… why he’d moved over in the first place, but… the alcohol makes his mind fog faster than Cloud City’s exterior, and no matter how much he scrunches his nose and eyes, it doesn’t clear the peculiar pressure, mounting like he’s rising too fast from atmo. His ears want to pop, but swallowing doesn’t get rid of it, and nor does yawning.

Tired. So tired. Slightly fuzzy around the edges. Bottle more empty than not. Heavy. Heavy bottle.

Thinking is getting harder. 

He’s going to call the Leia. The General. General Leia. He’s going to. Past Hux was an idiot. Past Hux thought he should disconnect the comm. Past Hux didn’t realise that Present Hux still knew how to reconnect it.

And to call her.

“Hey.” Maybe not how you greet the boss, but still.  


“…Hux? Are you alright?”  


“Yeah. Okay.” Serious, sensible voice. Serious, sensible Hux. Straight face. Sober. Sombre. Serious.  


“Has something happened to my son?”  


Hux giggles into his hand, very minutely, and then forces it back down. “Just now, or in general?” In general. She’s a general. Generaleia.

“Are you… are you alright?”  


“I’m fine. Son isn’t. He’s _fucked_.”  


“Hux, **please**  tell me nothing’s happened to him?”  


“Nothing… really. But he’s… hard. _Haaaaard_.” He elongates the vowel, making it obvious what he means. In case, you know, she hasn’t noticed. “You should send in a shrink. Not me.”  


There’s an interminably long pause, in which Hux has the recurring, intrusive thought of blowing a raspberry at her. Just… you know. For no reason whatsoever. To see what would happen. He can feel the way it would be against his lips, the pursing wetness, but he can’t work out how she’d react. If he was sober, the gap in his knowledge of her would worry him. Right now, it plays second fiddle to the slosh of alcohol in his guts, the proof in his cranium. 

“A psychiatrist wouldn’t… understand the way you can. He needs… he needs special care.”  


“By someone who breaks people for a living? What the fuck? You really thought that was a good idea? Just get me to do what’s been done to him? Over and over, by the looks of it? _Force_ , no wonder he’s fucked up with you for a mother.”  


That would be the alcohol talking. Hux realises the words are out the moment they slip from his lips. But, in a sense, he needed to say them. This has to be open, or it won’t work. If it can even work at all.

“I’m aware of that. I’m also aware he’s very good at manipulating his psychological team. I asked for you because of your…. talents. I hoped you might work beyond… what’s happened.”  


“You could maybe have _said_ that, instead of let me try to break him! It’s what I _do_.”  


“I can’t direct your hand. You…” and here the woman’s voice falters truly, for the first time. “You’re my only hope of getting through to my son.”  


Well. _Fuck_. Not like that isn’t a calculated blow, rubbing against his own ego and pride. Not like she’s just as manipulative as her son is. Hux feels both envy and horror combined, and he knows there’s no shirking this responsibility. Knows he called her to get her fire back in his belly, to steer him back into his lane. 

“What if he’s beyond saving?”  


What if I’m not good enough.

“You know who my father was, I presume?”  


Hux nods, even though it’s an audio call.

“Did you know, right at the end, he turned his back on the Emperor to save my brother?”  


Hux did not know that. 

“There’s good in him. So much good in him. And I’ve tried to be who he needs, and failed. I know I’m asking the impossible of you. I know I’m asking you to _undo_ what you’d do to him, if he was any other captive. But no one really knows… the things he and I have been through, other than someone who does them.”  


The alcohol is entirely gone, now. In its place is the stark, bleak reality of the world. 

“I’ll… I’ll do it,” he says, and hangs up the call.  


He hopes she won’t think less of him. He doubts it. Not if she still wants her son back, after all he’s done; a little alcohol-loosened talk is nothing in comparison to the Crimes of Kylo Ren.

Hux caps the bottle shut, and staggers into the ‘fresher. Water. Water on his face, and then in a glass. He downs a whole tumbler of it, refills it, and then pisses out what’s waiting in his bladder.

Back to bed, stripped, water on the bedside table, and limbs folded in the recovery position on the off chance that he’s sick in the night. He has never been sick in the night, but he knows you only really die once. He doesn’t intend it to be soon.

His dreams, when they come, are murky and unpleasant; a distant presence and an almost-sob. (They might not be his own. When he goes in deep enough, the dreams he gets aren’t always _his_.) He’s going to suffer for this in the morning. Still, Hux knows he needed to do it. 

The aftermath, the hangover… he’ll suffer it with pride. What doesn’t kill you, and all. There won’t be room for self-pity, not when he has his work cut out for him. 

He’s going to save the man if it’s the last thing he does.


	4. Chapter 4

Understandably, Kylo does not want to talk to him when he drags his ass there that afternoon. Hux is feeling a little worse for wear, but the caf and the careful consumption of calories have helped him approximate humanly acceptable. His stomach is still queasy, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

He does not go into the man’s room, but he brings a chair up to the other side of the window.

It is a while before Kylo speaks.

“Would you just fuck off and leave me alone?”  


“Will you please talk to me?” Hux counters.  


“Don’t fucking play Good Cop with me, now. I know you’re Crazy Cop. And I don’t want to play any more.”  


“Please. Hear me out?”  


“Why? You’ll change before the end of the day, or tomorrow.” Kylo rolls over on the bed, and he… yeah. He’s been crying. “If you had a shred of decency in you, you’d let me end this.”  


“Why do you want to die so badly?”  


“Shouldn’t you ask me why I _don’t_ want to _live_?”  


Because that’s the real answer. It’s not a running _to_ , but a running _from_.

Hux knows how that feels. It strikes him that maybe Leia’s playing them both so much deeper than he could ever have imagined: two interrogators, two turn-coats, two… outsiders. Kylo is him, mirrored. Less stable, more murderous, but the parallels are galling.

“Cards on the table,” he says, fussing the razor-seam of his pants central again. “I’m like you. I’m an interrogator. I break people for a living.”  


“I thought you baked cakes.”  


“My cooking skills are terrible.”  


Kylo turns away from him again, but the humour does indicate he’s listening. Okay. He can work with this.

“I’m probably the last person anyone would want to open up to. I get it. But I know more about your life - and the Order - than pretty much anyone here. Your mother wants you back; you _know_ that. But… I also want to help.”  


“You have a fucked up way of helping people.”  


“I’m a fucked up person,” Hux admits. “I _break_ people. People we want information from, no matter the cost. And I _read_ people. People we think will help us, but we want to be sure. I don’t deal with after.”  


“Then why the hell should I talk to you?”  


“Because you don’t need to worry you’re going to horrify me, or disgust me. Because… I won’t go and gossip about you, because I’ve literally got no one to tell. Because you want to talk to someone, and I’m prepared to listen.”  


“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”  


Hux stares at the man’s back.

“You’ll just attack me again.” He sounds resigned. “This is just a trick to gain my confidence. I never needed to use it, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”   


“How did you do it, then?”  


“I told you: I’m not falling for this.”  


Hux bites his lip. He has a good patience (or a good ability to cope with his anger, irritation and frustration by turning it inwards), but Ren is testing it. “Do you recognise my surname?”

“Should I?”  


“You might have known my father: Brendol Hux. _Commandant_ Hux.”  


Kylo shrugs. “I hear a lot of names.”

“He was very high in the Empire’s pecking order, and there at the foundation of the First Order.” Hux does not tell many people this, because they don’t need to know. It casts a shadow on him: one of a traitor, a blood-rebel. He’s abandoned the life he was raised into, and even though the Rebellion (and the Resistance) have always been loud about their acceptance of new recruits…  


…his position as one to test their loyalty says all you need to know about how even ‘vanilla’ outsiders are thought of. Ones like him are quite often stigmatised as potential double-agents. Rightly so, but it still rankles.

“So… I know. Some of what you’re going through. Not all of it, but enough,” Hux summarises. He has no desire to go into explicit detail about how the Order’s… ‘training’ and conditioning routine go.   


Kylo Ren likely already knows.

“You’re nothing like me,” Ren finally grumbles, a hand pushing his messy, dark hair back. He’s been letting his self-care go, in here. It’s hardly a surprise. “Don’t pretend you are.”  


“I’m more like you than most people here. No one’s ever _exactly_ like someone else, but you’re… worryingly probably my mirror image.” Which really _is_ worrying. Kylo’s killed how many people?   


“Can’t you just tell my mother that I’m beyond redemption?”  


“Kylo…” Hux stands, presses his hands to the transparisteel between them. “Let’s stop talking in circles. You’re angry with your family, and you’re afraid of Snoke. You’re stuck here. You’re sad, and alone. I’m offering… I’m offering an ear. I’m offering to try to help you.”  


“ _I don’t want help_.”  


“So you want to stay here? You still haven’t told me what it is you’re hoping for.”  


“I want you to leave.”  


“Okay: I’ll go. For today. But I’ll be back, every day, until you stop asking me to go.”  


“It’s not going to happen.”  


“We’ll see.” If nothing else, the man is lonely in there. The solitude would break many a person, but he somehow feels the waves of it, the crushing hole in the world when he’s here.   


Hux copes fine (most of the time) without others. But he does have more interaction with them than Ren does. He wonders how long he’d survive in there, if the tables were turned. 

He doesn’t want to know.

***

The next day, Kylo is sitting at the table. He’s showered, and pulled his hair back from his face, though he doesn’t have a band to keep it tied. It’s a small progress, but it makes Hux smile.

“May I come in?” he asks, at the window.  


Kylo shrugs, but doesn’t decline. Hux opens the door and moves in to sit opposite him. He has a little package in his hands, and he puts it on the table.

“You can’t bribe me.”  


“Consider it an overdue good faith gesture, and… look. This isn’t really a good place to be, long term. So…”  


The Knight frowns, but then pulls it over. There’s a small cardboard box of essentials: plastic comb, nicely scented soap, a small (shatterproof) selection of food condiments. Just tiny things he’s risk assessed as unlikely to cause much harm, and which might make him feel a bit more at home. 

Kylo does not thank him, but he doesn’t shove the box back at him, either.

Small steps.

“If you give me a list of things you would like, I can look into them,” Hux offers. “I know this is… this place is designed to break you down.”  


“So you can offer me nice things to get me to feel grateful, and so you can remind me how I exist thanks to your grace, and you can shape me how you want to.”  


It really is difficult when someone knows what you’re doing. 

“My goal - in this - is to… to bring you home. To family. To… away from the pain he’s inflicting on you.”  


“Because you believe so deeply in what the Republic stands for?”  


“Some of it,” Hux agrees. “There’s good and bad on both sides, but I think there’s more good here, than there. For instance: non-Humans. You know how the Order feels about them, and I doubt you always felt that way.”  


“One point,” Kylo agrees. “But that doesn’t change everything.”  


“Why don’t you tell me things you _disagree_ with, in the Republic and Resistance, then? And we can see if we can change things for you.” After all, positive action is supposed to be better than avoidance, isn’t it?  


“Well, I don’t agree with drugging me, but I doubt you’re going to risk undoing it.”  


“Not when you could control my mind, no,” Hux admits. “I need to trust you, first.”  


“And yet you expect me to trust you?”  


“As… equals. If you could read my mind, it wouldn’t be equal. This way, we both have the same insight into one another’s heads.”  


“But you can walk away. Can… take away my privileges. My _sleep_. My food. This is _not equal.”_  


Kylo has a point. Hux considers for a moment, then… “What if we took neighbouring cells. For as long as it takes. Suffer equally, and then you know I’m serious about this.”

The younger man stiffens in his seat. “Why would you do that?”

“I’ve decided I want to… help you. For my own reasons, now, not just because I was ordered to. I want to see if I can make amends for some of the breaks I’ve done myself.”  


“You don’t repent them.”  


“No: I needed the information. I’d do it again, and I probably will, over and over. But I need to repay a debt to the galaxy, and maybe it starts with you.”  


Kylo laughs, and it’s a horrible sound. Sad, and despairing. “There’s more than a few traumatised prisoners of war on my own side. I don’t think there’s any chance I could do the same.”

“Maybe. But maybe it isn’t about numbers. Even stopping doing _more_ is a step. And every little step beyond that counts.”  


“It’s not enough.”  


“You can do _so much_ , Kylo Ren. You’ve got incredible gifts. Why not try?”  


The silence is cloying, electric with possibility, sharp with fear. A coin, balancing on the edge, wobbling, and not promising either face, not yet. Maybe only ever wobbling. 

“I’d like you to leave, now.” It is, at least, polite.  


“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Hux promises.  


Kylo does not answer him.

***

Hux makes the arrangements: two cells, neighbouring, identical. A window between them, and a door; lockable remotely on a hard over-ride, but also capable of being left open, or opened and locked on either side should the occupants want privacy. No glass front out onto the world, making it only the holo-cams and each other as the witnesses to their routines.

He includes a few more creature comforts for both of them, as he has no intention of slumming it to the extreme. There’s a curtain to pull around the shower and toilet, and another around the bed. It blocks the view from one another, but not from the cameras necessary to ensure their safety.

A few toiletries. Bedding for their cots. A small selection of clothes to choose from. Still a cell, but less of a cage. Kylo could technically forge ligatures, but the camera surveillance and the knockout drugs should stop that being an issue.

Hux has, like most of the Resistance, undergone training in resisting torture and interrogation. In how to survive if taken captive. In what to do… in Kylo’s shoes, or at the end of either of their techniques. Of course he has.

But he’s never willingly walked into the self-same situation, in order to bond with someone. He knows that’s what this is (they both do), and even if it’s a less harmful method, it’s still what it is. 

Techniques are tried and true for a reason. Just because it’s an essential method of doing something, it doesn’t mean the use of it is wrong. Otherwise, you’d never be able to connect with someone. It’s a blessing, in a way, that they’re self-aware about this; it really does put it on equal footing in a way Hux has never known before. This is a challenge, a real test of his way around a mind, especially if he wants to fix one, not just smash it open.

He also knows stepping into this shared space will open the door wide for Kylo to dig into his head as much as he does to the Knight’s. Hux just hopes he’s got the emotional strength to deal with it, especially considering Ren has even less incentive to play nice than he does. He _did_ use some rather… unpleasant tactics already, and Ren _is_ still technically a First Order soldier, and he knows what _their_ hard limits are. (Hint: it doesn’t stop at asking nicely.)

Hux goes down to Kylo’s cell.

“I’ve made arrangements. Are you prepared to try?” he asks.  


“Try what?”  


“Seeing if we can come to some kind of understanding. I’ll be honest with you, if you will with me.” It’s hard to say it and mean it. He - well. He lives to tug the lies out of others, but he doesn’t ever open up completely himself. Not _lies_ , just hidden truths. Social lubrication.   


Self-preservation. Ends. Means. All that.

“And when you don’t like what you see?”  


Hux smiles, emptily. “You haven’t looked in my head, yet.”  


“I have,” Kylo snorts.   


“Then give this one shot. Work with me. I don’t have magic powers to fix things, but… you’ll go mad if you stay in here. Help me get you out.”  


The younger man thinks it through, his eyes distant and looking at something ephemeral, intangible. 

“I suppose it’s better than being bored,” he admits, at length.  


Whatever lies he has to tell himself, Hux will work with it. “Will you let me cuff you to take you through? If you’ll consent, I don’t need to involve guards.”

“Not like I have much of a choice, is it?”  


True. But he’s a lesser of two evils.

“Alright.” Kylo says.  


Hux nods, and opens the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Kylo doesn’t make a single wrong step on the way to their new rooms. Either he’s biding his time, he’s not yet sure, or he wants to see what the privileges of the new room equate to. He isn’t a stupid man, after all. 

He waits with his hands held behind his back for the cuffs to be removed, and then he takes a small tour around his cell. He looks at the door, sees the bolts on either side.

“You really are going for the ‘war makes strange bedfellows’ dynamic, here, aren’t you?”  


“I said I’d put everything into this, and I meant it.”  


“Ah, but for how long? Surely you’ll find a time when you consider it a lost cause. You’ll cut your losses and run.”  


Hux shrugs, his shoulders creaking. “I’ve got little better to do.”

Kylo’s hands turn into fists, and Hux notices, but doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Why do you seem to think you can’t be saved?” he asks instead.  


“Some people just can’t be.”  


Hux shakes his head. “The only people who can’t be saved are the people who don’t really want to be. The ones who don’t feel they did anything wrong, who don’t see the need to change, or to apologise.”

“Precisely.”  


Hux pulls one of the chairs away from Kylo’s table, sits down. He clasps his hands on the plane of it, and waits to see if the Knight will join him.

“You’re not a therapist, and you’re not a priest, unless I’m sorely mistaken. It would be some strange credo that said: _hit first, forgive second_.”  


He does have a way with words, doesn’t he? Hux grins, and nods to the seat to prompt him. “I’m neither. What I _am_ is your - ah - as close to ‘equal and opposite’ as you’re likely to ever find.”

“So?”  


“So. What you’ve done… why did you do it?”  


“…you’ll have to be more specific; I’ve done a lot of things. How far back are we going: to brushing my teeth last month and onwards, or when I tried to mind control people into giving me cookies as a small child?”  


“Did it work?”  


“What?”  


“The cookie thing.”  


“What? Uh. Sometimes. But then, when I got found out, I was told resoundingly not to do it again.”  


“Seems like you were putting your talents to good use.”  


“…don’t patronise me.”  


“I’m not!” Hux flashes teeth in his smile. “Don’t you think everyone would have killed for that ability as a kid?”  


“So?”  


“Why did you leave home?”  


Kylo wants to tell him, he does. It’s there in the righteous indignation mixed with terror and self-loathing. The man is pretty much the dictionary definition of ‘conflicted’. He’s eloquent and rational, but this isn’t a rational situation. It’s an emotive one, and not a logical one. Kylo _wants_ to tell his side of things, but also he’s holding back. 

Shame. Guilt. A lack of a sensible, defensible position. 

“Why did _you_?” the Knight asks, instead.  


“You know… I’d like to say it was solely on the grounds of a fundamental disagreement with the ethics of the Order, but it was also petty. It was… a rebellion against my father, and what he did to me.” Hux has never really spoken about that, not aloud. He’d been tested for loyalty when he defected, but he’d kept some things to himself. They hadn’t been needed, or he’d been convincing enough without them.  


“You know you can’t just tell half a tale.”  


“If I show you mine, you have to give me something in return.” Hux isn’t about to bare himself for _nothing_. His story - his pain - is leverage against _him_. He’s not going to surrender all of his power like that, much like Kylo won’t.   


More alike than he could ever have imagined…

“Commandant Brendol Hux wanted a son who was strong, smart, loyal and ruthless. He got most of those things, one way or another. I was never going to be…” Hux gestures to himself, “…one of those who can benchpress a small space station. But he made sure I was given _the_ best education. And re-education. And anything that he needed to make me into a weapon.”  


“Doesn’t sound so bad.”  


“Of course it doesn’t, but you know the truth, don’t you? You know what the First Order does to make you believe, to make you comply. Or… do you? You were around all those heads, you must have seen what they were like, inside.”  


Hux suspects they had less care taken, the ones who were (for all intents and purposes) cannon-fodder. They were designed to obey, to follow, to point, to shoot. Some were elevated to _lead_ , but the nature of a hierarchy was that more people needed to be lead than lead. Their schooling was more brute-force, and his… more insidious. 

“Then why did you leave?” Kylo pushes. “You were too defective to train?”  


“Oh, I was _very_ loyal. For a while. Incredibly loyal.”  


“Then _why_?”  


Hux chews on the inside of his cheek. It’s a question he’s asked himself many, many, many times. He wishes there’d been a heroic moment when he’d thrown off the chains of Darkness, wishes there’d been a time when things had been _one step too far_. But there isn’t.

That would make for a neat, nice, quaint little story. Life is neither neat, nor quaint.

“I’m not sure I can explain easily. One day I just… I realised… I realised I didn’t _really_ believe in it. I didn’t… and the fact that he’d tried to force me to, instead of let me… if he had to use coercion to make me obey, was it worth following?”  


“You do realise the massive, crushing irony of that statement?”  


Hux does, now. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to be better, but it’s difficult to do differently than you were drilled into. It comes naturally.” And, later, when Kylo isn’t looking… he’ll afford himself a private breakdown over nearly becoming the man he reviles so much. But later. (And out of here.)

“So, you didn’t like being conditioned into something, and as a result, you left,” Kylo surmises.  


“I also don’t really agree with all of their policies. You know; the crippling xenophobia, the mind-control, the use of children…” Hux brushes the thoughts off his shoulders with a lift-and-fall. “But mostly, I didn’t see the problems until I was far enough away. I can’t say I’m some great moral guardian, but distance let me see what was wrong. Even if I didn’t leave for the ‘right’ reasons.”  


“You left out of spite.”  


“I left out of _choice._ My first real choice, I might add. I decided I wanted to be my own man, not what Commandant Hux wanted of me.” Saying it, now, he realises it’s true. It was about choice itself, more than what the choice was. He’s not sure how he feels about that. Hux  _knows_ he’s not a bastion of virtue, but he also knows he’s got a compass, deep inside, and that itch of awareness of things that aren’t as they should be. He knows some things are beyond the pale, some things are _too much_. Less, here, than in the Order.  


And maybe his slightly greyer look on the moral spectrum, his ability to discern between two colours that are close instead of seeing only in poles might be why he excels where he does. He’s already got so many errors in his document revision history that he can take a few more sins if it furthers the cause. Small evils. Small evils that barely stick when you swallow them, when your throat’s been rammed full of wickedness before. Your gag reflex adapts.

“Now it’s your turn,” Hux prompts. “Why did you leave?”  


“Snoke.”   


Kylo pauses, still not sitting. His tongue steals over his lips, testing the waters before the words come out. Hux knows not to push, because this silence-before is precious, is needed. 

“He… contacted me.”  


Hux feels more to that word than the definition would normally imply.

“He - I was… I was never meant to be a Jedi. I knew that. He offered me… alternatives.”  


Again, there’s two conversations (at least) going on right now. Hux tries to pick through the words said, and those not said. “Assume I’m ignorant, and have no idea what a Jedi really is, other than magic tricks and a light sword?”

Mocking scorn comes, but dies before it turns into utterances, and then the other gestures. “Control. That’s the corner-stone. Emotionless control. Self-denial. Droid-like… no. That’s unfair to droids…”

“So it’s… a discipline?”  


“It’s more than that. Like… take a pilot, or a sniper. You focus. You do your job. But when you’re done… you go home, right? You switch off. You stop working, and you… do whatever it is you want.”  


“With you so far.”  


“With the Jedi… they never stop. That’s it. You… you just… become a weapon, a judge, a jury… you’re no longer for you, any more. And I’m…”  


Hux doesn’t think he could do that. “How do you know that’s what being a Jedi is? Is that… what Snoke told you?”

“Some of it, but also what my un– what Skywalker told me.” The man runs a hand over the back of his neck. “It was all… self-denial. And I was no good at removing my emotions from the situation, even if it was ‘Dark’. I just…”  


“Did you have to be a Jedi?”  


That makes Kylo startle, and his brow furrows. “Why?”

“Well, I believe the Force runs in the family. And… your uncle didn’t train to become a Jedi until he was almost twenty, right? And your mother…”  


“My mother has the Force, but she chooses not to use it, much.”  


“Then why didn’t you do the same? I mean, she got married. Fell in love. Had a son. Doesn’t sound like she put herself last all the time?”  


“But she’s not a Jedi.”  


“And why does that mean you have to be one?”  


“…they… I…” Kylo backs away, then. “No.”  


“We can continue later,” Hux offers. “After you get settled.”  


“No,” he says, again, and his voice is quiet, soft, _worried_.  


“Come through to my room any time the door is unlocked. If you’d like me to ask permission first to come here, that’s fine.”  


“Just… leave. **Leave.** ”  


Hux wonders why this is so close to a vein for him. This is one of those occasions that having Kylo’s talents to experience things through an objective, distanced set of eyes straight into a skull instead of experience a narrative framed and pre-judged… oh, he’d love that.

“Okay. Thank you, for what you’ve told me.” Hux stands, and goes to his own room to think about what he’s been told.   


Very interesting indeed.

***

It’s a while before Kylo comes through to his room. Hux looks up, and offers a polite, business-like smile. He doesn’t want to rush things, and this is the first time Kylo’s been able to initiate their contact, other than consenting to acknowledge Hux when Hux was already present.

“They sent me to Luke because I was… troubled.”  


“When you were - ten?”  


Kylo nods. 

“Snoke?”  


His eyes slide away. 

“How did he contact you?”  


“He… he can get in your head. He… could do it, now. I don’t know why he hasn’t.” And there’s obvious fear, there. “Maybe he thinks there’s no point.”  


“Do you think he’s waiting for you to escape?”  


“Or… or he doesn’t…” Kylo stops, and wavers. He’s obviously thinking about leaving again. He starts again, jumping back to an earlier thought. “I couldn’t. Control my moods. So they thought… Luke could help.”  


“Did you want to be a Jedi?”  


“No. I mean… a little. It was… it was… power. And it was… people are _proud_ of Jedi… mostly I wanted to feel better. I wanted… I wanted to feel _better_.”  


Ten. It was in the files. If Hux had thought fifteen had been a hard time to be subject to whatever Snoke was capable of… he’d already been talking to Kylo at ten? Hux barely even remembers ten.

“When did you first hear Snoke?”  


“I didn’t know it was him, to begin with. Maybe it wasn’t always. It was…” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”  


Fuck. It was one thing to be drilled, shown holos, tested and re-tested and forced into patterns of behaviour… but to have it right inside your head? Hux has heard the rumours of being forced to do things against your will: it’s why Kylo is _sedated_ , after all. He’s capable of making someone pull a blaster on themselves, as well as moving the blaster independently.

How the fuck must it feel to have your whole mind invaded? 

“Okay.” How does he handle this? “So. What happened to us wasn’t anywhere like the same, was it?”  


Kylo doesn’t reply, but he leans back against the closed door. 

“You do know… you do know you were a child, right?”  


“So?”  


“So… you were a _child_. Children need to grow up safe, and explore. So what if you had a temper. I’ve met your mother, if nothing else. _She’s_ got a temper. But she’s not–”  


“She didn’t fall to the Dark Side. You can say it.” He’s bitter, self-loathing _dripping_ from his words.  


“She also didn’t have a Dark Sider working on her, when she was still an _infant_. You really want to blame yourself for that?”  


“It’s not– it’s fine. The Dark Side is strong, and–” Kylo’s voice starts to arch into anger again, that self-evident temper. “It gives me power, it gives me–”

“Kylo.” Hux tries to keep the name soft, calming. “Ignore whether the Dark is better for a moment, okay? Whether it is or not, that doesn’t mean Snoke was right to prey on you.”  


“He freed me.”  


“He’s been in your head all your life. And you don’t look _free_ , or content, or happy to me.”  


“I am **strong**.”  


“Yes: there’s no denying that. You’re strong. But I still… I still think he’s not good for you. I think you were unhappy, in the Order. I don’t think you’re happy _now_ , but I am pretty sure you need to find something new, in order to… I don’t know… make sense of you?”  


“You don’t know anything about the Force!”  


It is hard to be patient around Kylo, Hux thinks. The man deliberately pushes people to go up in register. “That’s why I’m trying to learn.”  


“He gave me the ability to train myself, to open up my full potential, and you–”  


Hux holds his hands up. “Okay. Stop. We’ll talk about something else, instead. Alright?”

“ _No_.”   


“Kylo, we’re going to disagree at times. Either we accept that, or we’ll be forever fighting over the smallest difference.”  


“You’re still **wrong**.”  


“So we talk about–”  


“This was a _mistake_. Send me back. I want to go back.”  


Oh for the love of… this is barely the start of their internment. This is going to be so, so fucking difficult. If it wasn’t for his dumb pride, maybe he’d give up, too. “Go back to your room. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” He doesn’t even think how condescendingly _parental_ that sounds.

“Fuck you!”  


“Kylo, we’re not going to talk while you’re being confrontational. You’re not going to think straight, and–”  


“Right! Ask me to feel things, and then get annoyed when I do! You’re just the same as everyone else! You’re just–”  


Hux gets up, steps close, but doesn’t touch him. The man is several inches taller, and physically strong enough (sedatives or not) to snap him. Hux has to rely on speed, flexibility, and cunning. _And still Kylo flinches back from him like he expects to be hurt_.

“I’m not. I’m not like them. I’m not angry with you for feeling like this, but I also know you can’t really think straight when you’re mad.”  


“I’m _not mad._ I’m **strong**.”  


“And when you’re ready to fight - when you’re strong for a war, for a battle - you switch on different parts of you, and switch other parts off.”  


“ _I’m in control_.” He is anything but. He’s vibrating like the mooring came loose on one pod of his racer, eyes almost unseeing.  


“Kylo… it’s okay that you’re upset. But you’re not really calm. _And that’s okay_. I’m not going to leave, just because you’re angry. Okay? How do you normally deal with this?”  


He doubts counting to ten will work. The kind of miasma over Kylo’s face screams danger, and Hux’s senses are in over-drive about it. He’s flooded with the need to _run_ , but he knows he has to **stay**. He knows to run now would be to further reinforce the patterns this man has known.

“…I… saber… things…”  


“Okay. You don’t have your saber right now. Do you want to punch the bed? Scream?”  


Shame floods the tall man’s face, and he clearly feels vulnerable and embarrassed by this ‘weakness’. “No.”

“Do you want to spar?”  


Kylo’s head cocks comically at that, his eyes sharpening onto Hux’s face. “What?”

“To take the edge off. To get it back to where you feel focused.”  


“…I don’t… I’d hurt you.”  


“Try not to kill me, but minor bruising is okay.”  


Kylo shrinks, shaking his head. Hux has given him a free pass to land blows, and he’s reticent. Is that because he knows how hard he can hit, or is it because he dislikes violence? Which would be silly, considering how many people the man’s killed…

Okay. No violence. Hux goes to the bed, and pulls the two pillows away. He brings one over, holds it out. Doesn’t move until Kylo takes it, and then he sits down with his back to the wall, head against his own pillow.

Eventually, _eventually_ , Kylo slides down to sit next to him. His hands are white on the pillow, and he rocks just a little, but he’s calming _very_ slowly down.

“You know,” Hux says, after a long, long pause, “…if I was you, if I’d been through what you had… I think I’d be even angrier than you are.”  


A snort. “I’d like to see you try.”

Hux most assuredly would not. He sits, and lets Kylo bury his face into the pillow. He’s discreet enough not to ‘notice’ when the other man cries, just stays close by. Eventually - a long, long time later - Hux falls asleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

Hux is surprised to wake up with arms lifting him from the ground. His immediate response is to flinch, to ready to fight… and then he sees it’s Kylo.

No one ever… no one ever. Not that he remembers. No arms to hold him, to lift him. He’d be ordered to stand, instead; to stop being so weak. And it’s weird when Kylo moves to offer him the choice of continuing, or letting go.

It’s pride that makes him struggle to stand, holding onto the other’s bicep for support. “…’long was I out?”

“Enough. You need to go to bed. Sleeping against the wall isn’t good for you.”  


Hux is surprised by the consideration. He wobbles through the door and lets himself be lowered onto the cot. It’s strange to be fussed over, even in the slightest. He wrestles with his shirt, only accepting help for the last bit of removing it, and then lies down. He’s so very, very tired. His eyes just want to close, but he also feels the other’s presence, and can’t quite bring himself to rest, not yet.

Kylo only pauses for a moment, then he goes to his room. Hux makes sure he sees him go behind the curtain before he lets sleep back in.

***

Breakfast is just a simple affair of cereal, milk, juice. Nothing magical, but not much different from what Hux eats himself (when he remembers, or has the time). 

Kylo sits at his table, at ninety-degrees to the windowed wall between them. Not facing into Hux’s cell, but not turning his back. Hux sits similarly, as if he were at the same table opposite him, and not at a table in a cell a few feet to the side. 

The silence as they eat (punctuated only by the occasional scrape of cutlery to bowl, of slurping and crunching) is almost companionable. 

When they’re done, they both take their trays to the slots in the doors to their respective cells, open the hatch, and push them through. Hux wonders what he’s supposed to do next? There’s no manual for how to get a Dark Jedi who suffered psychological manipulation to open up to him. If there was, someone else would be doing this.

He looks over to him. “May I come in?”

Kylo shrugs, and goes to sit on his bed.

Hux grabs his own pillows and comes though. He puts them behind his back, against the wall, and leans.

“Don’t fall asleep down there, again.”  


“I’ll try.”  


It’s surprisingly comfortable, and reminds Hux of long, long ago. When chairs weren’t essential, and he could (and would) sit wherever his ass wanted to go. He’s also deliberately lower than Kylo, and although it makes running harder, he doesn’t fear violence. Not after last night. He’d given him every opportunity to vent his anger physically, and Kylo had resisted.

Not entirely won by Snoke, then.

“Without mentioning Luke Skywalker, or Snoke, I’d like you to explain to me both sides of the Force, if you can. You keep telling me I don’t know, so maybe if I did, I could help you better.”  


Plus, without the ties of his two instructors, the abstract might be better. Hux really doesn’t know much about it, and he suspects this will actually help both of them: Kylo, to come to terms with it, and Hux, to help him better. 

“…What do you know?” Kylo starts. Always answering questions with more of his own.  


“I know it exists. I know some of the things you can do. I know the Sith tried to wipe the Jedi out–”  


“And the Jedi tried to wipe the Sith out.”  


“Yes. But that’s about it. I know the Jedi used to work as peacekeepers, and that your uncle is one.”  


Kylo fusses about where he’s sitting, the familiar restlessness when things get that bit too close to his comfort zone. It’s a really obvious tell, and either Kylo doesn’t know, or he just can’t control it. 

“Jedi and… Sith… are… Jedi use the Light. Almost exclusively. And sometimes they do things not… ‘good’… it’s… it’s more how they power it. Or…” Kylo pauses, and Hux can hear wheels turning.   


Another attempt. “Jedi don’t like to use emotions. Sith do. Jedi do things that… might be considered ‘bad’. Like they - they have… used mind-control on occasion, if they think it helps the greater good.”

Moral rules bending for overall necessity. Yep. Sounds familiar. “So the actions - the powers themselves - are… not… coded Light or Dark?”

“Some. I don’t think any Jedi has used Force-lightning. But it’s… most things just _are_. Like moving things, or feelings things, or persuading people. You either find a sense of serenity inside, or you use an emotional battery. And it’s that emotional battery the Jedi despise, and call ‘Dark’.”  


“Could you be a Dark Side user and never do ‘wrong’?”  


“In the Jedi’s eyes: no. Once you let emotion in, you are headed down a slippery slope. You let fear, anger, love control you, and you are selfish and dangerous.”  


Weird. Very weird. 

“But… people feel things all the time without becoming genocidal murderers.”  


“People _without the Force_.”  


“That’s fucked up, Kylo. Why would the Force make you do something so horrible, unless the ‘Force’ wanted it? People don’t just turn into monsters because they’re… well… _normal_.”  


“Look, it’s… it’s power, okay? Power. When you use your emotions, you’re using what comes naturally. You don’t need to think, or train - not the same way - you can just… **do**. And… and it feels good. Because you’re getting somewhere, and _you_ did it, and then… then they say you can’t stop.”  


“Can you?”  


Kylo snorts. “Wrong person to ask.”

“No… right person. I mean, who else knows both sides of the fence?”  


“Snoke, for one.”  


“Right. But he’s also a giant asshole.”  


“And I’m not?”  


“I gave you open permission to fight me to take down your tension last night, and you looked like I’d asked you to eat your left foot, Kylo.”  


“It’s the drugs. I don’t feel like having my ass handed to me, when it’s not a fair fight.”  


That’s a lie, and Hux sees right through it. All the way through it. “You know no emotion is permanent, right? Anger, happiness, fear…”

“Love.”  


Ah. Well. “I wouldn’t really know on that one, but I suspect even when you love someone, there’s times when you don’t feel very warmly towards them.” Hux hasn’t ever needed to find out, not that he feels he’s lacking because of it. It’s just never been a thing he needed, or felt ready for.

“No,” Kylo continues. “They come and go. But the… the thought is that… that you just keep doing things, and you don’t think about what’s the right thing. I… I don’t really know.”  


“And there’s no way to use good emotions? Or… use your emotions and not murder people? Like… get really angry, fix some shelves, and keep fixing shelves?”  


“How would fixing shelves help my anger?”  


“…a sense of accomplishment and the gratitude of people whose shelves you fixed? I don’t know, I was just pulling an idea out of my ass.”  


“You can put your shelves back _in_ your ass, Hux.”  


“Okay. But the point still stands… what’s stopping you from getting your rocks off on doing good deeds? There’s plenty of things your powers could be used for, that wouldn’t get you on a ‘Most Wanted’ list…”  


Kylo doesn’t answer. At all. His face goes utterly blank, and Hux stares in confusion. He’s seen people go ‘elsewhere’ before, usually when he’s put the thumbscrews on too hard, too fast. A protective distancing, stepping away from the moment. But he’s not really asked something that bad, has he? All he’s thinking is that a Force-user could–

“Kylo?”  


He isn’t reacting. He’s frozen, his face a rictus. His eyes are glossy, his lips lightly parted around breath. 

“Kylo… where are you?”  


No response. He gets up - slowly - and walks closer. When he’s almost close enough to touch, the man’s head turns, but his eyes still don’t seem ‘there’. 

“Don’t.”  


The word that comes out is strange, almost like a different person is speaking. It’s still the same accent, but the pitch, the timbre, the stress pattern feels… wrong. Hux has a good ear for this, and it just feels… wrong. 

“How can I help you?”  


“You _can’t_.”   


“I can. And I will.” He sits next to the man, as far away on the bed as he can. Not coming too close into his personal space bubble, trying to respect it. “Whatever you’ve been told… it’s not true, is it? Not all true.”  


“You don’t know–”  


“I know there’s more to this than you’ve been made to think. There’s obviously more to the Force than what the Jedi want, and Snoke wanted to control you, too. Why don’t you forget both of them, and find something that works just for you?”  


“I’m–”   


He hears the word, even through the sedatives. Hears it, even though he doesn’t see Kylo’s lips moving. The man’s skin looks pallid, gleamed over with sickly sweat. 

 _Wrong_.

Just one word. He knows Kylo’s struggling with the Force, that every use of it costs him dearly. And what the _fuck_ did they do to this kid? Because he might be a grown-ass adult, now, but he was a kid when this started, and Hux is beginning to want to find Luke Skywalker himself, just so he can shake him down and demand answers.

“You’re not wrong. Everyone has emotions, Kylo. Even the Jedi Luke Skywalker.”  


“He can _control_ his.”  


“He was older than you.”  


“ _I’m older than he was when he became a Jedi_.”  


“You also had Snoke, and he had… what?”  


“Obi-Wan Kenobi. For about a day. And then Master Yoda.” Kylo knows these things, they’re _family_ stories to him, not fantastic things from far away.  


“Right. I said we’d leave Snoke out of it. So… why don’t you see if you can use your emotion, but still do things you agree are ‘right’?”  


“It doesn’t… it’s not like that.”  


“Why not?”  


“It just isn’t.”  


“ _But why not_?”  


“It - it just - it’s… that’s not how the Force _works_!”  


“Says who? Says a Jedi who had a few hours of training? Or the Jedi who helped bring about the rise of the Sith? Or the guy who has to pick on small children, and can’t win people over with the strength of his own argument, when they’re capable of making an informed decision?”  


“Because I get _angry_ and _afraid_ and I can’t… control… myself, and–”  


“Anger is normal! So is fear! Fear keeps you on your toes, makes you assess risk. And I don’t think murdering people made you less afraid, or did it?”  


Kylo crumples, then, burying his face between his knees. He isn’t crying, isn’t even shaking. He’s just destroyed, and trying to hide. Hux pauses, then puts a hand between his shoulder blades. Just still, a warm, reassuring presence. 

“ _He won’t leave me alone_.”  


Ah.

“Then we find a way for you to block him out. For you to be stronger, or for you to… stop him.”  


“I can’t. I _tried_. I tried for _fifteen years._ And he’s just too **strong**.”  


So. It was true. He’d been fighting him off, desperately trying to cling to a mantra, a way of thinking and acting that Hux could, on some level, see the merit of: a denial of self, a focus on the ends, but also the _means_. But at the cost of something so fundamentally, intricately _Human_ (or sentient…)

“You said he’s not in your head, right now. So there’s ways. And… for what it’s worth? I think… I think you’re stronger than you think. You _know_. Even now.” He strokes slowly, slowly, the contact barely there.  


“And live my life drugged? Do you have any idea what it’s like to have the Force, then have it taken from you? What if I took your sight, or your hearing?”  


“…if it stopped torture, I’m not sure if I’d agree or not.” Hux wouldn’t surrender something unless absolutely necessary, he’s sure. “But there can be other ways to try to help you.”

“And the minute I tried to step out of here, even if it _was_ possible… you know they’d clamour for my blood for what I’ve done. She’d be a fool to give me special treatment, more than she already has, just because I’m her son.”  


“You think maybe they’d be grateful for your help, instead? If you were fighting for them, not against them?”  


“And why would I do that?”  


“Because… One: it’s the right thing to do, and you know it. Two: if you do, you’ll have a support network, friends, family. Three: you’d wipe out your previous sins by helping, and making a difference. Four: you’d get your freedom back, and not live and die in a cell.”

“They’re no better,” Kylo mumbles.  


“Some ways, no. Others… yes. You can’t deny it. Not really. You and I both know that the galaxy would be a much worse place under Snoke than it would be under a supported Republic.”  


It isn’t the Republic he has a problem with, though, is it? It’s not their ideals, and it’s not even their methods. It’s… personal. Some people fight for ideologies, for the ‘greater good’, but Kylo Ren…

It’s about his family, isn’t it? The whole moral dilemma and ethical debate and political aspect is there, but playing second fiddle to his feelings towards his parents, his uncle, and the Jedi code. 

Hux can empathise. His father, after all…

“Do you… do you want to talk to her?”  


“ **No**.”  


“Okay. If you change your mind, she’ll talk to you, I know.”  


“This isn’t about her,” he lies, and pulls away from Hux’s hand. Rises, and walks to the other side of the room. As far away as possible.  


“Would you like some space?”  


Kylo grunts. Hux takes that as a yes. Patience is a virtue, and he’s going to be a saint by the end of this.


	7. Chapter 7

This is so artificial. All of it. Although the circadian rhythms are designed to mimic the rise and fall of the planet’s suns, the whole thing is arbitrary, and the lack of a real place to escape to means the patterns of their conversations are unreal, too. In the ‘wild’, they’d be free to come and go as they liked, and they would have more stimulus, more things to talk _about_. But here, it’s them, the walls, the furniture, and the inside of their heads.

He’s beginning to see why Kylo is unravelling, and beginning to feel it, himself. Everything takes on an eerie, _unheimlich_ air in here. Things no longer feel real, or solid. It’s like the very fabric of reality is pulled almost to tearing, so that through it he can see something else, something… other.

There’s a knock, and then the door opens. Kylo’s chosen to approach him, and every time he does, Hux feels a sense of pride. He looks up to the man expectantly, waiting to see what he wants today.

“How would it even work?”

Hux cocks his head to one side. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

The sudden flare of hope in his chest is unmistakeable. Kylo’s entertaining it as possible. Kylo’s _agreeing it might be possible_.

“Well, you’d need to see a forensic, clinical, criminal psych. One to sign off on your rehabilitative efforts. I’m not exactly an expert, medical witness, though I’m sure between my testimony and your mother’s efforts, we could get somewhere.”

“And all the things I… did?”

“You mean, your actions as part of the Order? If you confessed to them, and also volunteered intelligence and your services… I’m sure you could find your record expunged in a deal.”

Kylo leans against the wall, and looks up at the ceiling. His eyes close, and his fingers drum the glass behind him. “Just like that.”

“You know it’s not ‘just like that’. This… this is you working to improve yourself. Yes, some people might think you’re getting a Get Out Of Jail Free card, but the people who matter will realise it’s more than that.” So much more than that.

“I can’t exactly be let out to roam, though. Not when Snoke… not when he could use me.”

That’s the kicker, isn’t it? If he’s even willing to work with them, there’s the possibility he could be persuaded – or forced – to sell them out. “We’d have to come up with some plan to deal with him.”

“So… locked away, still.”

“Not necessarily. We could always eliminate the threat. One way or another.” 

“You mean kill him?”

Absolutely he means kill him. “That’s our end goal, isn’t it?”

Kylo nods. There’s more silence, then the man starts to pace around Hux’s room. His legs are long and chew through the small space in no time, and Hux has to admire how well he’s kept himself in shape considering his incarceration. Even with the drugs, he’s formidable. Without them dampening his mind and powers, Hux is sure Kylo could be counted as one of the galaxy’s most dangerous people alive.

“I can’t be a Jedi. If this is some ploy to get me to bow to Luke, then it’s a deal-breaker.”

“No Jedi,” Hux agrees. “You know… not everyone has to be one. I mean, are you even a Sith?”

“No. It’s… more complex than that.”

“But still: no Jedi. Your mother isn’t one. I bet you can do something different. You don’t need to follow a doctrine, just… go for the ends.”

“Snoke used to say my strength was that I could use both Light and Dark. That it was my Legacy to be the balance of both. He… wanted me to surrender to the Dark, but to bend the Light to me.” Kylo’s pacing stops. “But that… could work both ways. I could… I could control, or bend, both. Right? Use… them as and when I see fit.”

Now he’s getting there. “Quite. You can use both of them, and do what _you_ want, not what others want of you.”

“Except my mother?”

Hux snorts. “In a sense.”

“So. We. We find a way to get Snoke out of my head, or to… or if we can’t, then we limit the damage, and… I do what I can to help bring him down, and… that’s it?”

“Unless you want more.”

“I… don’t want to speak to my mother. Not until I know Snoke’s got no hold over me.”

“Alright.”

“Alright. Yes.” 

They’re going to do this. For real.

“You’re going to… trust me enough for this?” the Knight asks.

“I told you: I’m in this to the end. That means I have to eventually trust you, or accept an element of risk. It’s never going to be guaranteed safe, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

“So. Yes.”

“Just… if… know that… if he’s in my head…” Kylo bites his lip. “I might not be able to tell you. Warn you. Save you.”

From himself. Kylo can’t even assure him of his own safety. Well, then. It’s going to be interesting.

***

Hux doesn’t know if Snoke has been listening in all this time or not. Kylo’s reduced sensitivity means it’s entirely possible, and even if he was mentally free, would Snoke be able to conceal his snooping, if he didn’t go for outright control? How would Kylo ever know, whilst Snoke was alive? That… that was a terrifying concept. Never sure your mind and your actions were your own. Never alone. Never…

He has to stop before it gets too much.

Kylo’s powers are terrifying enough as it is. Hux has only witnessed his telekinesis and some telepathy, and at a much reduced level through the drugs. He’s aware that Kylo is one of the strongest Force users to ever live, and so this is a very, very dangerous prospect. Even with the remote controls and security measures. 

For one, he could get into Hux’s mind without him knowing, and that’s… not a nice concept. Even worse is the knowledge that it’s precisely what Snoke’s been doing all along. Even from childhood, when the boy – Ben – had still been forming his sense of self. The fact that Kylo’s as together as he is is something of a miracle. And some part of him can’t help but admire and appreciate the _skill_ that Snoke had in breaking him.

Split him from his support network. Drive a wedge between his parents and uncle and the boy. Destroy his sense of self, and rebuild it how he wants. Become the sole source of real ‘praise’ and approval, make him ‘special’, but broken. Become his only safe haven, but attach conditions to it, make it precarious and conditional. Kylo is a walking bag of contradicting edges and insecure pride. It’s a psych’s worst nightmare, and wet dream, in one.

Praise. Such a normal thing to most. Such a desperate dream for some. 

And then there’s the very distant possibility that Hux himself is being played. He has to hold that in mind, too. Snoke could have engineered this, or Kylo could have lied his way through to get Hux’s trust, in order to break out. He likes to think he has more sense of the man than that, that he’d be able to tell, but he’s going to act as if the worst were possible, so he can’t be surprised. So he can’t be _beaten_.

So they’re going to go slowly. The drugs he’s on – hypnotics to sedate him, but not past his basic motor function and cognition – have an addictive effect, and the medics have warned them that the slow titration of his weaning will still cause withdrawal difficulties.

That’s why Kylo is curled under a blanket, shuddering. He looks awful, and Hux feels his gut knot in sympathy.

And let’s not even think about how Kylo’s temper-flares are him under emotional _sedation_. Uncontrolled, he’d be even **more** volatile.

“T-talk to me?”

“About what?” Hux asks.

“Anything. Just… talk to me.” It’s a plea, one of last resort. “You know almost everything about me. I know n-nothing about you.”

“You know more about me than anyone else does,” Hux counters. And isn’t that a strange prospect? “But okay. Uh… I didn’t meet any free, non-slave non-Humans until I was sixteen.”

“What?”

“I just hadn’t. My father had been imperial, remember? And he continued along with those ideals. And for a long time… it just was normal to me.”

He remembers, distantly, when he hadn’t questioned it at all. When he’d been young enough to take it all at face-value. But he remembers, too, when his thoughts had wandered: these huge numbers of alien species with their different languages, biologies, technologies, customs. He’d wondered what made them so inferior, what set Humans apart. 

“I suppose so. Did you ever… question it?”

“Eventually. But not enough to be stupid enough to _ask_ questions. My father’s answer to ‘Why are we superior?’ was always: ‘We just are, boy.’ And I didn’t ask my tutors, or my class-mates. Therein lay re-education.” And a world of hurt.

Kylo winces, and a hiss of breath between his teeth catches Hux’s attention. Kylo shakes the focus away.

“Anyway, sixteen. I was working as a junior officer, alongside my father. He called the mission one for experience in the field, but I suspect he was too ashamed to take anyone else along. They’d run out of a vital component, and this Mon Calamari trader was the only one with sufficient stock to see us through.”

“Ah. And he didn’t like having to deal with him.”

“Nope, not one bit. And I’m sure the guy charged him three times the going rate, considering his arrogance. Supply and demand. Even if my father still considered this man below him in the food chain because of his labour-based roots… in that negotiation, he held all the power. My father was the beggar.”

“Not the time you… reconsidered your allegiance, though?”

“Oh no. Just an eye-opener. There were several of those; I collected them up, and kept them inside.”

Kylo sighs, and pulls his hands through his hair. The detoxing isn’t going easy on his system. 

“Do you want me to up the dose a little?”

“No. I… I want to get through this. I need to know I can.”

Hux has never been addicted, but it can’t be pleasant. Not one bit. He looks down at his feet, wondering what else he can tell him. He’s always been full of meaningless anecdotes (some more true than others) when trying to bond with someone, but this… this is different. 

This is really trying to bond. He’s not coming out of this unscathed, and that’s just… the nature of it, isn’t it? Kylo is too complicated and self-aware (and self-unaware) to superficially win over. It has to be _real_.

(It’s terrifying.)

“You know, we had to study your family? I guess you figured that out. We didn’t study you, but then… I think we crossed over, didn’t we? It was about the time you switched that I did, too.”

“We passed in hyperspace,” Kylo agrees. “You were young.”

“Not as young as you.”

“I wonder what we’d have thought of one another, if we’d met on the same side, ever.”

Hux laughs a little sadly. “If I’d met you when I was my father’s son… I suspect I wouldn’t have liked you much. You’d traded sides, so you couldn’t be trusted. You’re a Force-user, so you’re dangerous and unpredictable.”

“And you… well. Snoke didn’t exactly have much affection for Force-insensitives. I’d probably have barely acknowledged you.” The Knight swallows, and he looks sad. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s people we weren’t.”

“I wasn’t… very nice. As a child.” Kylo wraps himself utterly in the blanket, lying on one side, only eyes and nose poking out. “I was so unhappy and alone. I… barely had friends, and I thought I was a monster. I was afraid of what I could do.”

“I’d have probably been too afraid to approach you. I was just a lowly rebel, and you were the son of the leaders of the Rebellion.”

“Sons and daughters are just people. Hell, even leaders are.”

“I know that more now I’m older, but back then… I was intimidated. Rank structure had been drilled into me from a very, very young age. You knew your place. You knew not to speak above your station.”

“And me… I knew people were afraid of me, and some of that was who my parents were. It’s also likely why Snoke wanted to use me so much. I wished – so many times – that Mom and Dad were just… normal people.”

“Off somewhere quiet and remote?”

A nod of blanket. “Where I didn’t have the Force. Where I could just be normal.”

“You can be normal, now. Or… as normal as we can make it.”

“I don’t think it’s possible once you’ve killed as many people as I have, Hux.”

“Why not? You were a soldier. You killed for an ideology, and a superior. You didn’t kill just for the sake of killing. Even without the conditioning you went through… people can understand that, surely?”

“I liked it. But I also didn’t. I liked the power, but I… the feel of them leaving the Force… Hux, you have _no idea_ what it’s like to **feel** someone die…”

“You mean, you can sense their pain?”

“And their passing. Like a light – not _the_ Light – but a sense of life snuffing out, and the galaxy dimmed just slightly.”

Oh. No. He can’t imagine that. Nor does he really want to.

“I was fourteen when I first killed,” Hux says, instead. “I’d done plenty of sims, but my father wanted to make sure I wouldn’t flinch… any more.”

“Any more?”

“I… didn’t like to do it in the sims, to begin with. Games were fine, but sims… I kind of knew it was meant to be real.”

He’d forgotten that. He’d forgotten that, somehow. He’d not blocked it out, he’d simply not remembered. It’s strange, feeling it click back into his head. It doesn’t hurt at all, or make him reel from the shock of it. It’s just that it happened, long ago, and he’d lived without it being a remembered part of him. 

Now he kind of feels like his whole history is different. Like every action after should have been with that memory as part of his consciousness, and he’d walked around for years without all of him ‘there’. How can he rely on his memory as solid, as ‘him’, if he could forget something as vital as being forced to—

“Hux?”

“Huh?”

“Are you… are you okay?”

“Sorry. I just… it reminded me, is all.”

Kylo’s blankets slide down. “Flashbacks.”

“…I don’t—”

“They come to me, too. Things your mind wanted to save you from. Things you wish hadn’t happened.”

“It wasn’t even that bad.”

“Now, it isn’t. Then it might have been.”

Hux doesn’t like that implication. What else is there in his head, what else is lost to him? 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s okay. If… if you need to talk about it with me. It’s okay.”

“I said it doesn’t matter.” 

“Okay.”

Hux doesn’t want to talk, then. He has nothing else to say, and they sit in silence for a long, long time. Who he is isn’t who he thought he was.


	8. Chapter 8

Kylo deteriorates in the night. Hux isn’t sure if it’s the meds, or if it’s Snoke. He hears the faint bleeping to get his attention, and he blearily walks into the next room. Kylo’s vitals are monitored, so it can’t be bad enough that a medical team needs to be called, but it’s bad enough that Hux needs to know. 

The man is thrashing on the bed, in his sleep. The blanket’s tangled perilously around his legs, and his arms are up and in front of his chest. His hair is a mess, and Hux wonders if he can even get close without being kicked or sent flying, but the level of distress is too high to ignore.

“Kylo… _Kylo_.”

The man doesn’t respond beyond a whimper, and Hux decides to risk it. He approaches side-on, one arm ready to protect his head, and then he takes hold of Kylo’s wrists to gently shake him to consciousness. “Kylo… wake up. It’s okay. You’re safe. Wake up…”

The man _screams_ , and Hux finds his mind suddenly taken over, like he’s been dropped into the leading role of a holo. He’s in a three-dimensional panorama, complete with sound, smell, and every other sense. It’s a little off, but it feels visceral enough to nearly be real. 

He’s there, but he can’t do anything. He can see the bloodied and mangled remains of children and teens, and when he looks up from the carnage, his eyes meet – Ben? That’s Ben. He’s sure of it, somehow. This is right when it happened. This is his memory, or close to it. His face shifts subtly between the man Hux knows… and someone much, much younger. Like a dream can be two things at once, without breaking its internal logic.

“Kylo.” No. “Ben.”

“I did it,” he says, sounding… raw. Choked. Sad.

“Yes. You did it.”

“ _I killed them_.”

“It’s okay.” What else do you say to someone in the middle of a nightmare flashback to their (possibly) lowest moment?

“ _I killed them. I killed them all. I – I just – why doesn’t it **stop**?_ ”

Hux walks closer to him, hands in that low, defusing gesture. Like you would to an animal, or an upset child. (Which, in a way, Kylo is right now.) “You can’t change the past. This happened.”

“It didn’t make it better.”

“No. It wasn’t the right thing, but you didn’t know. Not at the time.”

“Why didn’t I? I did. I knew killing people was bad. I did it anyway.”

“What did he promise you?”

Around them, like thunder. Hux covers his ears, but the rolling, purring, seductive and _threatening_ voice is deeper than the physical, and the muffling does nothing to lessen the volume. 

**Come to me, and complete your training, boy**.

“That’s Snoke?”  

Ben – Kylo – whoever he is… nods.

“But what did he do to make you do this?” Hux pushes, because he’s pretty sure that’s important for them both to know. Kylo’s never processed this guilt, not properly. He’s never come to terms with his mistakes, and he’ll never move on if he doesn’t own up to it. 

Or… no. He’s owning it. He’s admitting he did it. It’s forgiveness he’s stuck on. Fifteen years of hating himself… or thirty-one… either way it’s horrible. 

“He… he told me… he told me I was… I was born to be Dark. I was the grandson of Darth Vader. I was destined to fall. My… urges, my needs, my…” Kylo waves, but the gesture isn’t meant to just mean the bodies littering the floor. “He made me think I couldn’t _not_. The thoughts were there, all the time. And it… it **hurt**.”

“Hurt how?”

And Hux is sorry he asked, because there’s a sudden slam into his chest and he _knows intimately_ what Kylo means. He _aches_. He aches with gnawing, resentful bitterness. Loathing, self-loathing, shame, guilt, envy. Everything that someone would hate to feel, magnified to a hundredfold and coiling in him like a serpent. He cries out, almost imagining that he’ll vomit out sorrow itself. It chokes inside of him, and he reels under the weight.

“He told me he could make it stop.”

And it does. For Hux. Kylo makes it stop, and he’s so damn grateful.

But the story isn’t over. “He did make it stop… for a while. But then I realised I felt those things anyway. And he didn’t take them from me. He told me to use them, to make myself stronger. He told me if I was strong enough, that I would be in control of it. That… that I needed to force the Light in me to do what I wanted, and not to listen to it…”

“How… how could you force the Light to do anything? Isn’t the point of it that—” Wait, what is the point? The Dark is feeling – of any kind – so what _is_ the Light?

Kylo pulls one arm across his body, clutching at the opposite one. His hair falls to obscure his face, and Hux wishes they could get away from these bodies leaking red all over the tiles. 

“I don’t know. But I – I always could feel it. Calling to me. I… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You felt the Light… and you thought you were broken?”

“If I wasn’t, why would I do this? Why would I be weak enough to fall, and why would I… be so angry, so out of control?”

“Well, you do realise most people going through puberty have a hard time anyway?”

“Hux. Puberty does not excuse mass murder.”

“…no. But it does… explain why your temper was spiking. And you were being provoked. How many people do you think would hold up against someone literally grooming them inside their own skull?”

Kylo startles, and the boy – Ben’s face – looks up at him. “My uncle would have.”

“Do you know for sure? No. Because he didn’t have it happen to him. You were hardly the age of criminal culpability when this started.”

“But when I did this—”

“He’d already been working you over for _years_. Don’t you see? You held out as long as you could, and he pushed you. You know, considering he could actually make you do something you _didn’t want to do_ …”

“But I—”

“Feel guilt. Right now. Maybe even then. That shows you that you didn’t wholly want this. If you did, you wouldn’t feel so bad.”

“So because I feel bad about it, it’s okay?” He’s incredulous, not serious.

“No, it isn’t okay. It’s still bad. You and I both know it. But it shows you’re not _evil_. Not really. Not…you made a mistake, okay? A really bad one. But it’s not because of you being some irredeemable monster, it’s because you were literally _tortured_ , Kylo.”

The world shakes, and then dissolves. Hux wobbles, and looks down at Kylo. Awake, now, on the cot. 

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know.” To both of them. “You’re not a monster. You’re not. You made a serious, _serious_ mistake… but you’re not a monster.”

“What if I do it again?”

Oh. _Oh_. Yes. Hux can see how that worry would present itself. Kylo knows he’s capable of it, because he’s already done it, once. And whilst past performance was no indicator of future results… 

“Do you _want to_?”

“…no.”

“Then you won’t. Not under your own choices. You can’t hold yourself responsible for something you can’t stop, if the power is… outside of you. If you made me shoot your mother… I wouldn’t be responsible for that.”

“You’d _feel_ responsible.”

“I would. But feelings aren’t always _right_.” Very often anything but. Hux perches on the edge of the bed, letting his legs trail over. “Eventually, you’re going to have to stop beating yourself up for this. Or… do it less. Work on not doing it again, instead of punishing yourself. Work to make things _right_.”

“Guilt and shame don’t make the world a better place without positive action?”

Hux nods. “Do you think you can get some more sleep?”

“I… can try.”

“I’ll bring my things through. So you don’t feel alone. If… if you want me to.”

Kylo looks infinitely grateful, for such a small thing. “Please.”

***

Hux wakes up when he’s already flying through the air, and the breath is crushed out of his lungs by the force of something flat and sturdy. His eyes open in shock, and for a moment his mind can’t catch up with the images. Then he realises… he’s lying on the ceiling. Facing the floor. And Kylo’s standing below him, thrashing through the air.

Everything that isn’t bolted down goes whirling out to the walls as his attention flickers, some of it smashing, some of it bouncing and getting hurled back out some more.

“Kylo!”

The man doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t seem to. He screams and throws Force at the bed, making it groan under the weight.

“ **KYLO**.”

His focus snaps up, and then Hux feels gravity remember him, managing to get his hands and knees underneath at the last minute to break his fall. 

“Get _out_.”

“Kylo… I can’t. You know I can’t.”

He’s flung back again, and this time his head cracks into the wall. It’s like a blanket of air pressure holds him still, making even breathing difficult. Hux has to pant shallowly, his throat feeling salty and his nose dripping blood down his face. 

“You can’t break me into one of your pet Jedi,” the man snarls, his lips pulled back ferally from his teeth. “I’m not going to be your plaything.”

“This isn’t what this is about. You’re going to live for you. Remember? No Snoke, no Luke. Kylo. Ben. Whoever you want to—”

“He’s _dead_.”

A hand now, not just invisible power. Around his throat, crushing at his trachea. The automatic survival instinct floods through Hux’s body, pumps his heart faster, makes the world slow down perceptibly. He grabs at the wrist, trying to pull it away from him.

“Who-whoever you want to be, Kylo… you weren’t happy there, but you could be happy, if you—”

Another slam. Hux can’t fight him off through the Force, but he _can_ bring a knee up and between the man’s legs. He’s not so pinned that he can’t use his lower body, and that gets enough of a shock through to push off from the wall.

Kylo’s grip shifts, and then their hips collide and the Knight slides his arm in a choke-hold around Hux’s throat. Hux tries to tilt his weight forwards, legs free-wheeling, in an attempt to throw them off balance. It doesn’t work, because Kylo is far too centred for it. Instead, he tries to twist around, to get the pressure away from the front of his throat, and elbows madly at the man behind him.

‘Helping’ or not, Hux has to survive this. And Kylo’s attack is all but expected.

“You… you didn’t… you didn’t want to kill those Jedi…”

“I _did_.”

“Then why do you still have nightmares about it?”

Kylo lets go, and Hux staggers away from him as quickly as he can. He drops into an alert, guarded pose: knees bent, hands ready. He’s calculating possibilities, moves, feints… but his aggressor’s frozen, like a faulty holo-recording.

“You don’t—”

“Understand? _I do_. I understand, Kylo.”

The Force hits like a fist, and he’s sure he’s going to have internal bruising. His hands go out, and Hux has to fight _every survival instinct he has_ to not provoke him further. To look like he’s peaceful, and calming. He tries to walk past the shove, and he knows Kylo’s either weakened, or not acting at his full potential.

“I wanted to.”

“You also didn’t. You wanted both.”

“ _Good people don’t want to kill_.”

“What if there’s no such thing as ‘good people’? What if it doesn’t matter what you think about, or want to do? What if it only matters what you _do_ do?”

“I _did_ do that!”

“And you can _stop doing it in future_.”

“There’s not any Jedi left for me to slaughter.” Kylo’s defusing, just a little. He’s still tense, but he’s trying. He’s trying so very hard to listen to reason. 

“Everyone gets angry. Everyone wants to go on killing sprees sometimes. Wanting doesn’t make you bad. _Doing_ does. And if you stop doing…”

“And if I can’t?”

“You can.”

“I _can’t_.”

“You **won’t** if you don’t try.”

The thunderous, static-charge slowly starts to abate, and Hux feels his heartrate slowly peter out to normal. Ren turns, showing his back. _Vulnerable._

Hux steps very, very cautiously forwards. A hand between his shoulderblades, refusing to be shrugged off. He keeps the contact there, feels the sighs. 

“It’s… it’s… okay?”

“It’s okay.”

“You think… you think… Luke?”

“I think everyone gets dark thoughts. I do. Some of us more than others. But how is someone who never has to fight them down ‘better’ than someone who has to work hard at it? If anything, you’re the stronger one. You’re the _better_ one, because you’re doing something difficult, but right.”

Kylo drops to his knees, and his face goes into his hands. He’s not crying, but the backlash of emotional turmoil is like an elastic band snapped right into Hux’s face. Gingerly, he kneels beside him. Kneels, and wraps an arm around him.

“I’m sorry,” the Knight says, voice hushed.

“I know. I know. You’re going to be okay. Someone should have told you long, long ago.”

“I think they tried, and I didn’t listen.”

“Then they should have told you _harder_. You’re going to get through this.” 

The man turns, and Hux is confronted by an open-armed embrace from someone who only minutes before had been asphyxiating him. The whirlwind change is unsettling, but true. 

“You think you could watch a holo?” Hux asks.

“In… in here?”

“Yeah.”

Kylo’s face burrows into the side of his neck, a bopping gesture of agreement. It’s not a cell any more. It’s a medical cubicle. 


	9. Chapter 9

Hux did not expect that Kylo would be a snuggler. Maybe he should have, because he’d seen holos of the outfits he’d been in before they stripped him into the dark, charcoal grey jumpsuits. He’d been covered from head to foot, even his mouth and eyes blanked out. Hux is starting to wonder if no one’s touched him kindly (other than himself) in over a decade. He’s touch _starved_.

It makes sense. It’s not a pleasant thought.

Once Hux gets the movie up, trying to distract him from his withdrawal-and-Snoke-fears, they find the best place to sit is on his bed. Side by side, and since he’d stolen the hug, tiny little touches scatter through their interactions.

Kylo wants to ask permission, but he doesn’t dare. 

Hux has never been one for huge amounts of physical contact. In the Order, it was mostly part of combat training. You just didn’t touch one another all that much unless something necessitated it. Maybe he might have been patted on the back or shoulder from time to time, but that’s about it.

When he joined the Resistance, he’d been struck by how the personal boundary bubbles overlapped so egregiously. It was if each person’s sense-of-self was bigger than their body, or maybe they didn’t mind when others touched them. It was a culture shock of the highest order, and had his skin crawling for months as he plastered a false smile on.

And Kylo… Kylo was once one of them. For him, it’s where he came from. It’s second-nature to him, and Hux has to force himself not to flinch when Kylo tries to press against his side.

How do you say: ‘Where I came from, people only touched me if they were trying to kill me, or teach me how to kill’? Because that’s his own response, and he’s now more aware than ever that some of his deeper programming is just plain… weird. To everyone here, he’s as much of an outcast as Kylo is. 

But he’s been the one initiating, until today. He’s been the one reaching out to _Kylo_. Just little things, and he hadn’t even noticed until the Knight reciprocated. Apparently it’s easier when he’s the one in control, which… requires some serious consideration, later. 

So here they are. Sitting side by side.  Hux can feel the places where their legs touch, and then the curve of their physiology parts them. He’s acutely aware of his own breathing, and that of Kylo, and he just… can’t relax. He can’t. He isn’t sure why, but he can’t.

(And this is dumb. He’s supposed to be helping the man, not having minor freak outs of his own. What the hell is wrong with him?)

Kylo seems to notice, his eyes slanting towards him. “…what’s wrong, Hux?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re acting like you’re the one detoxing.”

Yeah. Well. “It’s…” Dumb. “I’m just not used to… you know.” Everything.

“Holos?”

“With people.”

“Me either.”

No shit. Hux kind of got that memo on day one. 

Kylo shuffles away a little, and Hux sighs. That’s… okay, maybe what he wants, but he’s supposed to be _helping_. And being a prickly pear about this is likely not.

“You do know why you’re doing this, don’t you?” Kylo asks. “And I don’t mean because of my mother, or even because of your pride.”

“Yeah.” Hux does. He does, and that is by far the hardest part. You can’t hide anything from someone like Ren, like Ren can hide little from him. Not the big things, anyway. 

This isn’t just about Kylo Ren. At some point it became, in his heart, a case study for _himself_. After all, if someone as dark as the Master of the Knights of Ren can be brought back to the land of the Light… so can he. 

The medical psychs would have a field day with the pair of them. Probably _will_. After throwing himself so whole-heartedly into this, they’re going to want a thorough evaluation of him. He doesn’t blame them; aside from the captor-bonding, there’s Force-manipulation and just plain crazy lack of survival instinct to contend with, now. 

“For what it’s worth,” Kylo continues. “I doubt you’ve done anything horrific. Perhaps not the kind of things you’d mention over a casual dinner party, but that’s the reality of war.”

Kylo says this utterly blasé, like he isn’t just giving him the absolution he very much… doesn’t need. No. No way.

(Maybe a little.)

“I don’t need you to say that, but thanks.”

“We all need someone to say it, sometimes.” Kylo shrugs. “I know. I used to hear my parents, remember?”

And by ‘hear’, Hux suspects this is more than just through the conventional senses.

“On purpose?”

“Sometimes. I mean, when I was very small, I didn’t really know the difference at times. I’d say things – answer things – that meant I’d been listening in, and everyone would recoil. Other than my mother. And… well. Chewie was normally fine with it, too.”

Chewie – Chewbacca. Hux has never had a reason to speak with him. Wookies are such a strange species to him. So very alien, and he’s glad he’s not been around one because a) he doesn’t speak their languages and b) he’d probably stare. 

“So… you’d just… hone in?”

“When I got older I learned how to tune it out, mostly. Except when tired. Or… or if someone was thinking really loudly. And if people were upset, or worried… it would be difficult not to. Especially if I wanted to help.”

“Can you read my mind right now?” 

“Could I? Yes. Will I? Not unless you ask me to, or invite me to.”

“…did you… what… did you…” He’s not sure what he’s asking.

Kylo’s foot nudges his, and Hux tries not to cringe. “Ask.”

“I – uh. Did you do it a lot in the Order?”

“If I needed intel, mostly. The majority of thoughts are very dull. Or distressing. People think about sex a _lot_.”

And obviously when someone says ‘don’t think about sex’, you either think about sex or think about gross things to distract yourself from the potential to think about sex. (And, if supremely unlucky, you think about gross things _at the same time as sex_ and feel nauseous.)

“So basically a continuous flood of sexual harassment? How nice.”

“Especially when it’s – you know – people who you’d rather never think about.”

Hux’s mind goes there. Hux’s mind wishes it didn’t. He sees Kylo’s eyes crease with amusement, and whacks his fist to his upper thigh. “Asshole.”

“Hey, you wanted to know. But… to get back to the point? Even my folks worried.”

“And Luke?”

“He was harder to read, and I’d also tried to stop by that point. But probably. Leaders have to make some very tough calls at times: sacrificing people, torturing others… I’m sure it happens on this side, but maybe to a lesser extent than over there.”

Hux has done some of those interrogations, so yes. He knows. But there’s lines he wouldn’t cross, all the same. 

Again. This is not supposed to be about him. Projection or not, this is supposed to be about Kylo. He fusses with the cuff of his shirt, wondering how to effectively spin the conversation back around. “You forgive them, then, for when they made bad decisions?”

“Some of them.”

Oh. Well. “You know… they didn’t want to hurt you, or let you be hurt. I’m sure of that.”

“Doesn’t take away the fact that I _was_. I can… I can still be angry, even if I know it was unintentional. I was… I was very unhappy, as a child. And my father… let’s just say he wished he’d had a Solo boy, and not a ‘Skywalker’ boy.”

“You’re both, though. Aren’t you? And an Organa. I’ve seen it.”

Kylo looks down his long nose in confusion. “Oh?”

“You’ve got that politician’s way of looking at things. The bigger picture, the rules, and the ways around them. And you’re well-spoken, if a little hot-headed.”

A snorted laugh. “I’m more than ‘a little hot-headed’, Hux.”

“Very well, but you get that from both of your parents, you know. She keeps a lid on it usually, but I’ve seen her blow up at times.”

“Normally around my dad.”

The fact he’s owning them as his parents again does not go unnoticed. “And I’m sure you take after them in other ways, too.”

“Well, I can’t fly. There’s that. Source of eternal consternation for my father. Although I’m reasonably good at making technology behave, and I understand Shyriiwook.” Kylo stretches, his elbows going up and onto the moulded headboard. It’s almost like the classic ‘lean-and-stretch’ on a date, but Hux doubts that was the intention.

“I guess I take after my father in my flexible morals and my drive,” Hux says. “Don’t know about my mother. And an unkind person would say my switching sides was amoral. I mean: not evil, just… lacking in moral undertones. Either to forge my own path, or to back the winning side.”

“You have more morals than you think you do, you know. The fact that you’re even concerned with it shows it matters to you. You just… worry. Like me. You worry you’re not moral _enough_. What was it you said about people who have to fight for it?”

“Physician, heal thyself?”

“You’re the one who decided to project first.”

Hux laughs, and whacks him again. “It’s inevitable, and you know it.”

“I know. I also know… absolutes are hard to deal with, when you’ve seen terrible flaws on both sides, and Humans – or other sentients – who are worthwhile, but who happen to be on one side of the war, or the other. How many of those troopers ever had a chance to do anything else with their lives?”

“In all honesty: none. The careers – the ones who are true-believers – tend to go into the officer ranks.” Like he had. “We kill them, they kill us, and really most people on both sides would prefer no one died at all.”

“So why are we?”

“Well. The Resistance wants democracy protected. The Order wants something else.” Namely: Snoke in charge. Which Hux very much doesn’t want. He’s seen – first- and second-hand – what Snoke is capable of, and doesn’t want that replicating on any larger scale, thank you very much.

“Yeah.”

“I’m not saying our side is without problems, but there’s less of them,” Hux pushes. “And if you help reduce them even more… not that there’s likely to be many others in your shoes.”

“On account of me murdering them.”

“Because Force-sensitive children are few and far between…”

“On account of me murdering them.”

“…you can help support any future children.”

Kylo sighs, and slumps. The gesture leaves him pressed closer to Hux. Hux decides it’s okay.

“Put something funny on. I can’t remember the last time I really laughed.”

***

It was only a matter of time. Hux is in the shower when he hears a _yell_ , and he peers around the curtain to see Kylo on his knees, hands clasped behind his head, rocking back and forth.

“Kylo?”

He cuts out the water, grabbing the towel and slinging it around his hips.

The door between their rooms has been open almost permanently for days now. Hux walks to it, holding the frame.

“Close the door.”

“I’m not going to—”

“He’s **in my head**. Close the _goddamn door and stop trying to be a hero_.”

Hux considers his options, then decides he values his own life. They can still talk through the door, and if Kylo really wants to open it, he can. He closes it quickly, sliding the bolt into place, and knots the towel at his hip so he doesn’t have to hold it up.

“How can I help you?”

“Fucking _shoot me_ ,” Kylo growls out. His fingers are bent as if he’s in agony, pulling long, dark hair from his scalp. “There’s no saying no to him, why did I let you make me think I could?”

“Kylo. You can. You’re the strongest Force-user of an age. You’re Darth Vader’s – Anakin Skywalker’s – grandson. You’re strong enough.”

“ _It fucking hurts, he won’t stop, he won’t stop it, Hux I can’t—”_

The anguish is palpable. Hux doesn’t think it’s a standard level of empathy (which, he’s been told, he doesn’t have much of: enough to understand, but not enough to _feel_ ) that makes his insides burn cold. It’s likely Kylo leaking out, struggling to contain the Dark touches inside of him. 

“Listen to me: you can beat this. You can. You’re not a kid any more, Kylo. If you want the pain to stop, you have to make it stop for yourself. Going to him didn’t work, he just kept you forever dissatisfied. He strung you out like a drug dealer. He made you depend on him, but never really escape it. Right?”

“He’s too _strong_.”

Everything smashes outwards. All the little trinkets and creature comforts. Something shatters, and it’s only that the transparisteel is ridiculously reinforced that it doesn’t break. 

“He’s strong, but you can be stronger.”

“ _You don’t understand_.” 

Kylo’s up, and walking to one corner. Hux watches in confusion as the man splays his hands out over the wall. What’s he doing?

“I won’t ever understand. No one will ever understand. What you’ve gone through is something we’ll never feel in the same way. But you can… Kylo?”

There’s emergency alarms now. Bleeping frantically, and the lights in the room start to pulse with red. Something outside is going wrong, and Kylo is still holding onto the wall. Hux doesn’t like that, and he looks up to the ceiling. 

“Status report?”

“Don’t ask them.” Kylo’s voice is eerily hard. 

Hux watches in horror as something red starts to cut through the wall from the other side. What? Have they been infiltrated? Has Kylo been playing him? 

His hand clutches the towel harder as the lightsaber completes the arc through the wall, only… when the section falls through, there’s no one holding it.

Oh. Kylo called it with the Force. He’s engineered his own escape. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

He throws the bolt out, slams the door wide, and strides into the other man’s cell as his hand curls around the hilt.

“Kylo. _Don’t_. He doesn’t care about you. He’ll only use you, and hurt you. You’ll never be at peace. You’ll never be happy.” He’s wearing only a towel, with water dripping down from his hair and into his eyes. He’s facing a man with a lightsaber, and a voice in his head. (This is the very definition of crazy.)

“There _is_ no such thing as peace.”

But he wants to be convinced. It’s there, in the way he hasn’t struck Hux down where he stands. In how he’s paused, how he’s hesitating to listen. He could have cut Hux in two and taken the base by now. But he _hasn’t_. He wants something different. He wants to stay.

The alarms are still blaring, the wall a smouldering mess. Hux bites his lip and walks over to him, holds out his hand, and guides Kylo’s hand over the ignition switch on the hilt. The plasma blade dies instantly, three spikes of death gone as quickly as they came, and Kylo’s eyes beg him.

“ _Help me_.”

“I’m going to.”

How, he has no idea. 

“Put the weapon down. Put it down. Remember you can do this. Remember you don’t like what he makes you do. But if you don’t fight him – even if it hurts – he’ll make you do it all over again.”

Kylo pushes the saber hilt into Hux’s palm, and turns. His hands curl into fists. “I need to do this.”

“Okay?”

Hux watches in distress as the man turns on a complete section of wall and launches into a furious display of rage. He punches from the waist: blow after blow landing, punctuated only by the harsh sounds of his breathing. Anger. Pain. That’s what he’s using to control it. Pain of his own infliction, but this is not a long-term solution. 

He pushes the hilt into his towel (praying it stays up) and goes up to him. “Stop it.”

“I need to.”

Slam. Slam. Slam.

“Don’t use anger. If you have to use emotion, use something else.”

Slam. Slam. **Slam.**

“Anger is stronger.”

“Anger is easier.”

_SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM._

“Use hope. Use happiness. Use what you _want_ to feel. Use your anger, but don’t turn to pain.”

**_SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM._ **

“I can’t—”

“KYLO.”

He watches him drop, down to the crouch again, hands in his hair and a sudden _scream_ : wordless, furious, and it _hurts_ to hear it. And then it stops, and the man is left shuddering in his foetal ball. 

Silence. Breathing. The drip of water from hair over his face, the drip of blood from knuckles to the floor.

“…did it work?”

The Knight’s voice is hoarse from the scream, low and confused. “I don’t know. I can’t hear him.”

Hux bends, and wraps an arm around him. “Come on. We’re not letting him win. Come on.”

“And do what?”

“Watch holos. Talk. Read. Anything.”

“There’s a hole in the wall.”

“Yeah. But you didn’t go through it, did you?”

Kylo looks up at it, and realises. “I stayed.”

“You stayed.”

He nods, and lets himself be pulled from his room and into Hux’s.

Step. One.


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m going to need to talk to people out there.”

“About the hole?”

“About the hole.”

Kylo considers this for a moment, then nods. “It’s beyond what you signed up for.”

Hux isn’t going to leave to escape the punitive-therapeutic setting. He’s going because there is a very real, obvious risk that they’ll both be gassed and he’ll wake up taken far from the Knight. He’s going because the hole changes things.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

He will be back. He has no doubt about it.

***

“What _is_ going on?”

“General… it’s working. I believe I’m getting somewhere.”

“Hux, there’s a hole in the wall.”

“I’m aware of that; I was there at the time.” Hux runs his thumb along the shaven line of his jaw. “But he could have escaped, and he didn’t. He could have run, and he didn’t.”

“I’ve seen the holos, Hux. Snoke is in his head.”

“If you’ve seen them all, you’ll know he’s been there for quite some time. In fact, for fifteen years before you really acted on it?” It may, on balance, be a bad idea to bring up your boss’ failures as a parent, but frankly, someone should. 

“I tried to help him. Ben wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

“Can you blame him?”

Leia Organa winces, her face pained with years of regret, but in a sense he thinks it’s well-deserved. “No. I didn’t protect him enough. I didn’t keep him safe from those who wanted to hurt him.”

“I doubt you really could have stopped Snoke from attacking him, but you might have been able to help him deal with it. Although it’s moot, now, as you can’t go back and fix it.”

“Will he provide us with intelligence? Intelligence you’d actually trust, if you had to personally act on it?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have walked into his cell if I didn’t believe in him. He’s going to work with us. And maybe there’ll be periods when he’s struggling to fight off Snoke, but… I think we’ll know.”

“What if Snoke can pull information from him, without his consent?”

“What if he could do that to me, or to you?”

“But with my son, there’s a connection. A precedent.”

“And you wanted him back, General. If you want him back, you’re going to need to deal with his past. He’s an enemy combatant you captured and want to turn. Even ‘regular’ people can betray you.”

“Alright. What do you think we should do, next?”

“Question him – non-aggressively – for anything you can. And start work re-integrating him with your people. He’s going to be as nervous as your troops are, so if you can find some way for them to witness or acknowledge his intel and its effects… if they can associate him with the benefits he’s providing…”

“Will he… will he speak with me?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“I want to. Before I let him out onto the base.”

“I’ll… broach it with him. I can’t say he’ll be positive about the idea. He’s going to be as nervous about what he could do to people as they are, you know.”

“Hux…”

“Ma’am?”

“Thank you.”

He nods. ‘You’re welcome’ seems to be a little too light for what’s going on.

***

“…no.”

“Kylo, you’re going to need to leave here eventually. Weren’t you the one sick of being caged up?”

“I’m not going to speak to her. I’ll answer whatever questions your intelligence officers ask, but I’m not seeing her. If that’s the way I get out of here, I’ll stay with my holonovellas, thank you very much.”

Holonovellas are trash. Hux has said as much to Kylo, and Kylo has said in return that he has no shame. They’re melodramatic, histrionic, formulaic, and utterly addictive. Hux wonders if Kylo likes them so much because of how over-blown they are: after all, most of his life is so extreme as to be nearly the plot of one.

Maybe add in a long-lost sibling. Definitely more sex. That’s probably all that’s missing.

“You can’t live your life like this.”

“I can. What you mean to say is: ‘It isn’t healthy’,” Kylo corrects him.

“That, too. If you want Snoke dead, your best chance is to join forces with the Resistance. You don’t even need to stay after, and you can only work on missions that would lead to his death, but you can’t do them from in here.”

“Hux… how would you feel if I told you to go speak to your father, right now?”

“That’s not relevant. He lived and died on the other side.”

“If he came over. If he meant it. If he was out there, right now, giving everything up for a chance to see you one last time…”

And that hurts. It does, because it would never happen. Even if Hux had remained with the Order, if he’d risen to dizzying heights, if he’d brought the Republic crashing down, if he’d burned democracy from the galaxy (if he’d toppled the Leader, become _Emperor_ )… Hux doubts Brendol Hux would ever have been truly proud of him.

Or, if he had been, he’d never have shown it. It just wasn’t in his make-up. He’d never have said: ‘Well done, son. I’m proud of you.’ He’d certainly never have deliberately sought him out to talk to him, and… no.

“Your parents love you,” Hux says, and regrets it the moment he’s said it.

Even if it’s true, the difference between them, and it’s something they’re both patently, painfully aware of… he just hasn’t outright ever said it. He hasn’t even said it now, but the statement is obvious enough in its absence as the corollary to the first statement.

Yours do. Mine don’t. Didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Whatever the reasoning behind it…

“Hux, I—”

He lifts a hand, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t about me.”

“It… look. I didn’t mean to offend you, I just meant… I just meant you’d find it hard.”

“Yeah, I would. But also, I wouldn’t want to talk with him because he was a raging, genocidal xenophobe. Why don’t you want to talk to your mother?”

Kylo closes his eyes. Hux can practically hear the mantras, the counting, the techniques to get his anger under control. “I’m embarrassed. And angry. And I don’t… if I see her, it’s real. Okay? All of it. It’s real.”

“It seems pretty real already. Look… I get it’s not going to be easy for you. Maybe it’ll be the hardest thing you ever agree to do, but she _cares_ about you. And you’re ready to throw that away? She still believed in you, even after everything you did.”

“And that’s only because she’s my mom.”

“Excuse me, but case in point.” He bites it out, not liking having to pull himself into this. “Not all family behaves as it should. Not yours, not mine, not anyone’s. But you have a second chance at family, and you only get one. One real family.”

“She sent me away, Hux. Like she didn’t want me, or like I was too broken…”

“To her _twin brother_. Imagine how that killed her? Not being enough to help you, having to ask someone else to do their best for you?”

It’s obvious this has never occurred to Kylo before: his brows launch up and his eyes blink below. Suddenly, Hux wonders if maybe Brendol thought _he_ was doing the best for _his_ son? Even if he’ll never forgive him, or be happy with his choices. How would he know what the man’s real intentions were?

“Intel first.”

“I’m sure she’ll agree.”

***

It’s weird. Kylo goes off to be interrogated, and Hux is left on his own. He doesn’t _have_ to stay in their rooms, so he moves out and lets people in to clean the area up. He goes out into the outside world for a little while, blinking into the glare of real light.

No artificial light ever really compares to the glare of a star above you.

He looks around and hooks his thumbs into his belt. Re-integrate with society, he’s advised. Baby-steps. Get people to see his worth. Make them accept him.

Hah. Like he did when he joined the team? He’d just reported for duty, occasionally held superficial conversations, and kept to himself. It wasn’t… arrogance, was it? No. He doesn’t see himself as that much better than everyone else, not really. It’s just that he’d never felt he needed anyone else’s input into his life.

And he hadn’t. And he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. He’d… he’d get Kylo back into the community, and then… what next?

It isn’t as if any other task could ever compete with fighting for the very heart and soul of someone, pitted against years of systematic abuse and the biggest, baddest evil around. Nothing would be as big, as resonant. He was going to make his whole damn career, and then burn out to nothing, wasn’t he?

Because he has that drive. That craving for more. He’d tried to deny it, of course. Said to himself that he was happy where he was, who he was, what he was. Maybe he had been, but this… this has kicked up his long-denied competitive edge. Be better. Be bigger. Be the most.

(And oh, but can he hear Commandant Hux’s voice right now, in his ear.)

There’s nothing really else his talents can be used for. He’s a decent shot, and he’s a reasonable combatant, but he’s never much liked being in the front line of fire. His self-preservation instinct kicks in long before the blaster-fire does.

He’s not a _coward_. He just values his life a lot. And he doesn’t need to prove his worth by standing where people can shoot at him, okay?

He can’t be a spy, he’s too well-known. Well. 

Probably.

They’d work out he was Brendol’s son, right? He’s not been forgotten so much? If he could even bring himself to do it, that is, and then the life of a double-agent would also be dangerous, and even more solitary. 

Solitary. It had never been an issue, before. But that was before he’d done the immersively stupid thing of confining himself with a Dark Sider. Locking himself in quarantine, in the equivalent of being prison cell-mates. And now he’s feeling antsy about their separation, and they’d been apart for only a few hours. It’s dumb. It’s just because of the artificiality of their relationship, and the abrupt change from constant companionship to nothing.

The thing is, Kylo knows him, now.  Knows him dangerously well. Hux has never let anyone come close to this level of knowledge, and it’s prickling the back of his neck. He knows him. He knows enough that he could really harm him, if he ever chose to. 

He could destroy Hux. Probably. If Hux had enough of a heart to _be_ destroyed.

Anyway, Hux can’t give him introductions to people. He barely knows anyone unless he’s had a reason to interact, or to vet them. Their paths – once this is over – won’t cross. Kylo will go off to do whatever Force-users do in times of war, and Hux will… just… continue to interrogate people.

None of his work acquaintances will be relevant for Kylo. Even if they were, it would be the level of a professional introduction, not a social one. Plus, Kylo likely already knows enough of the old-hands here. He could probably show Hux around.

Likely the only reason he’s been drafted in for this job is that _he used to be in the Order_. He doesn’t have a shared history with then-Ben. He understands the other-place, but not this one. He’s… transitory. This arrangement is transitory.

He’s just a chapter in Kylo’s story, and Kylo… Kylo is kind of… the defining moment of his arc. Even his rebellion itself could be seen as simply useful for the Knight’s progression. He’s a side-character. He’s not the protagonist. He’s just… he’s going to be out-grown.

After all, why would Kylo want to ever see him again, afterwards? He wouldn’t. Why would he? Hux is a reminder of that time, and of his change, of his volte-face. 

He’s nothing.

His father was right, after all.

He’s just a stepping stone for others to progress along their stories.

 **Fuck**.

Fuck. It’s too late. There’s no backing down, now. He looks up as Kylo’s walked out of the intelligence briefing, and their eyes meet.

Does he know?


	11. Chapter 11

It’s unfair to be unhappy about Kylo’s success, it is. The man’s making huge strides in his rehabilitation, and it’s in no small part thanks to Hux himself. He’s pushed and prodded and poked and persuaded, although Kylo’s had to listen and engage for it to work. He spent four full hours disclosing information, and proudly proclaims he’ll be doing the same thing for days (weeks, maybe) to come. 

Some of his information will have expired, of course, or been superseded upon his capture by protocols designed to keep the Order safe from compromise, but there’s going to be a wealth of data in his mind. The Resistance likely couldn’t _get_ a better person to switch sides, save maybe for the Leader himself (which would, of course, never happen). 

But it’s really not fair of him to feel bitter about Kylo making steps in the right direction. He’s getting empty nest syndrome, and they’ve… they’ve only known one another, what, weeks? It’s like those summer friendships you supposedly form, or ones on vacations. Stuck in one another’s company, with nothing else, you become convinced it’s the best thing ever. It’s that or spend all of your time disappointed. You _swear_ it’s a lasting connection, you _swear_ it will continue after…

…and, if popular culture is any guide to reality, things fizzle out and everyone’s left embarrassedly pretending it never happened at all.

Of course.

So. Maybe when it’s over, Hux will look back on it from afar. Maybe he will be fine, too. He’ll continue life as normal. He’ll do whatever it is he needs to do. And Kylo will do his.

(It’s beyond petty, feeling upset. It is. He pushes it down as deep inside as he can, and plasters on a smile. Ignores the physical sensation of it.)

“I think I’m ready to talk to her,” Kylo says, one hand running up and down the length of his shin as they sit together, back in their conjoined cells.

“That’s great news.”

“You… you do think it’s right, still?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’ve… no reason.”

No, it isn’t no reason. He’s picking up on Hux’s own negativity towards this, and that’s… that’s not good. It’s not going to help matters one bit. “Kylo… I’m just… it’s difficult, okay?”

“You think it’s easy for me?”

“No. I… this is why I didn’t want to say anything. Okay? Because it’s perfectly… it’s good that you’re moving on. And I’m just…”

Kylo taps his foot to Hux’s. “It’s okay. I get upset, too. I kept trying to work out when they’d let me come back, all the time I was out. I managed, but I also… I didn’t feel comfortable.”

Okay. Wow. Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise, but Hux feels relieved knowing this is ‘comfortable’, or comparatively so, for Kylo as well. Hux isn’t sure if he, himself is so institutionalised deep down that this is his natural habitat and he’s finally back in his element, or if it’s just his survival instinct kicking in to keep him from going insane. 

“It’ll be a big change for both of us,” Hux agrees. 

“You… uh. I mean. I’m…” 

Hux watches the man squirm, with his peripheral vision. The second-hand embarrassment is cringe-worthy.

“You don’t have to say it.”

“But I am.”

“I know.”

Kylo’s grateful. Hux isn’t enough of a dick to make him say it aloud.

***

There’s a conference room in the building. Hux has used it many a time for smaller briefings to the operational staff on his findings. General Organa is due any moment, and Kylo is fussing outside the door.

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

“I don’t know. I – yes, and no.”

“Do you want to talk me through the reasons why both?”

“Yes, because you’d protect me if she got too… much. And you’re calmer than I am. But… no because it’s kind of… embarrassing.”

“Worse than what I already know?”

“When you put it that way…”

***

Hux feels Leia Organa’s gaze heavy on him, and maybe this was not the best idea, after all. He’d been so focussed on Kylo’s needs that he’d forgotten to think about her feelings, and he’s obviously stepping into her shoes by supporting Kylo, and his presence is yet another reminder of her failings.

And yet. She made those failings, so why should Kylo continue to carry the can?

The trestle-tables have been deliberately pushed away, folded up and against the walls. He’s fairly certain Leia wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull them back out and make the room formal again, but that’s why he insisted they come down first (so he could check they’d followed his guidelines in prepping, and to stop her altering the layout. He has to control things just right, after all). 

Four soft, low chairs scatter around a caf table, and atop it there’s a jug of water with glasses beside it. It all screams artificially relaxed, but that’s the nature of this meeting. It _is_ artificial. You _don’t_ schedule a conference room and diary time with your parent. You _don’t_ have to ask for emotional support. Not normally.

Kylo fiddles with a snag in the fabric, his short, rough nails catching and worrying at it. Hux has to resist the urge to slap his wrist.

“Are you joining us?” Leia asks.

“I asked him to,” Kylo blurts out, before Hux can even try to answer.

“Very well. Kylo… I’m pleased you agreed to meet with me.”

She used the right name, Hux notes. Deliberate. But a good sign. 

“I’m…” Kylo nearly bolts.

It’s there, in his tone. In a sudden flash of fear that isn’t Hux’s own. He feels it, feels the terror and the request combined. Kylo is _panicking_. Hux slides his boot across the floor, pushes it against the Knight’s. Knee to knee, just a subtle gesture. It burns all down the right hand side of him, but it’s something he can live with.

“Kylo, I’m sorry,” Leia says. “For everything.”

He’s going to run. Hux can tell. He’s going to run, and… maybe never, ever come back. Hux doesn’t blame him, facing up to his relatives after all he’s done? Probably nothing harder in the galaxy. He puts his hand behind him, in the dip of his spine. Brown eyes flicker to him, then back to his mother.

“I’m sorry I… ran away.”

“It happened. But you’re back.”

“Well, you did have to catch me,” Kylo points out, with a self-deprecating little grin. 

“You didn’t make it easy.” Leia leans forwards in her chair. “You’re here now. We can work through things, if you’ll give us a chance. Your father wants to see you, too. Everyone does, but at _your_ pace.”

“Thanks, I…” The Knight turns to Hux. “Is it okay if I talk with my mom alone?”

Weirdly, that doesn’t hurt. “I’ll be outside, making caf. If you need me, come to the kitchen.”

“Thanks.”

Hux squeezes his shoulder as he rises, and smiles to himself as he leaves them. They’ll be okay, now.

***

Nominally, he’s always reported to Major Caluan Ematt. There’s probably a hierarchy in the way, but because he’s not actually part of the normal functions (and most people prefer to forget his job exists at all) he’s never actually needed to report to anyone for much oversight. Technically, he should probably have run the first interaction with Kylo past him, but as Leia Organa is Ematt’s superior, he’d done so retrospectively.

So. He’s here, now. The Major does give him plenty of time when he needs it (and he so very, very rarely does).

“How can I help?”

“Sir, I would like to work on a re-integration plan for Kylo Ren.”

“I saw your last précis. You think the kid’s ready?”

Kid. He’s only a few years younger than Hux himself, but to Ematt, he’ll probably be a snotty-nosed little brat until one or both of them dies. “I think so, but I’d like your assistance in arranging some… guided and structured meetings.”

“You want to set up play dates for him?”

“Well, no.”

“Or… official meetings?”

Okay, now it sounds bad. “I just would like some specific groups to target, that I could soften up in advance, so we did not have friction at our first meetings.”

“So you want some friendly names who will give him the time of day? Okay. I think I can work with that. Leave it with me.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Hux is glad that meeting is over. He doesn’t care if it feels a bit stilted, if he takes a Dark Side user around and says ‘Have you met Kylo?’, it will only be a matter of time before someone says something and Kylo goes off the handle. The first few meets have to be ‘soft’, or he’ll regress.

***

Right. ‘Soft’. The word ‘soft’ only really applies to Poe Dameron’s _hair_. And maybe his landings. Nothing about the Black Leader is reserved or restrained. Was Ematt joking? Because Hux doesn’t think Kylo is ready for _this_.

(And it is not, under any circumstances, because the charming man has everyone else on the base at least sixty-nine percent in his thrall. That doesn’t factor in at all.)

“Hux, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Poe.”

 _Commander_ , he thinks, but nods a little sharply all the same. No point in being deliberately obstructive and rude. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Hey, if it’s for the General’s son? I’m all in.”

Hux wonders if Poe would be ‘all in’ if it had been him. Just some random officer, son of a Commandant. He tries to hide that thought away, and what is it about Poe that makes him want to scream? He’s _–_ as far as he can tell – _sincere_ in how nice he is to everyone, and maybe it’s that people who _are_ that nice often have something to hide, or they just go through life untroubled by deeper problems and thus leave normal people grasping at their jetstream.

“Do you have any history with him?”

“Ben? I knew him a little. Our families were—”

“Kylo,” he corrects the man.

“Huh? Oh. Right. Yeah, well. I knew him a bit. My folks and his folks were close, but work kept them apart. We used to talk a bit.”

But of _course_ they did. 

“So, what did you think of my proposal?”

“Introduce him to the squadrons with the intel we’re going to use to take down the factories? The ones building components for the new – better – Death Star?”

Maker, does he actually need to repeat everything? It was Hux’s plan. Why would he need to say it again? Hux knows it intimately well. There is no ‘other’ plan he could be confused with, and—he’s being petty. Teeth behind the smile gritting at imaginary bones between his jaws.

“Yes. That one.”

“I think it’s a great plan. And when we come back, victorious, I think we should also make it known that he was the leak. You know, come to the bar. Everyone toast him.”

The _bar_. Where people _socialise_. Loudly. Yes, wonderful. Precisely what Hux doesn’t want, but which likely will be a great idea. _Why didn’t he think of it first_?

“Yes.” Hux can’t be any more positive than that. He just can’t. 

“Great. Good talk.” Poe claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll call for my pilots to rally in front of Black One so I can give them the headsup. If you and B—Kylo could be there?”

“Of course.”

“And, hey… you know you can always come straight to me, in future? I got no problem with the Major asking, but you should know my door’s open. I mean that.”

He does. That is the worst part.

Nice people.

Hux hates them.


	12. Chapter 12

Going back to their rooms after the meeting with the pilots feels… wrong. Sure, some people had looked at them both sideways (probably wondering why _he_ was involved, as much as why Kylo was now _persona grata_ ), but once the extent of his infodump had been made public… well.

Soldiers like results. And this ragtag group knows Rebellion from the other side, it’s where they came from, in many cases. After all, Kylo’s own father had once been an Imperial trooper. And – if the rumour is true – before a pair of droids walked into his life, the Jedi Luke Skywalker himself had wanted to go to the Empire’s training Academy.

Admittedly, those two hadn’t been born to Rebellion-Resistance and turned, and then turned _back_ , but Kylo does benefit from his nerves, weirdly speaking. Although he comes across as stuffy (Hux watches, as he interacts), the nervous tells are there. Mostly in his face and voice, which are likely the result of not having to hide them in over a decade, relying on his mask.

But they’re there. And although Hux is more attuned to them than most, Kylo is _definitely_ more mixed signals than the broadcast lines above Coruscant. His core frame – his torso, his shoulders, his head – all speak of power and confidence. His fingers, his face, his eyes and mouth – these speak of nervous insecurity. 

And that makes him – forgive the species-bias – _Human_. (Which he is.) Makes him a normal person, like any other person. Makes him… sympathetic.

Hux had watched as the small crowd’s body-language changed towards him, as the words became more positive, the smiles more often. Mirroring gestures, nods, turning more to him. Subtle, unconscious signs of acceptance.

Watched, too, as Kylo gently blossomed under the influx of reassurance. Reassurance and social ease that he, himself, hadn’t offered. 

But now they are back in their rooms. Technically Kylo is still a captive enemy combatant, but he’s sure the paperwork for formal re-adoption (if such paperwork even exists) has already been filed. They’re back here only because Kylo has nowhere else to go yet, and that’s part of what he has to raise tonight.

Part of him wants to let him come down from the stimulation of so many faces and voices, but then he’s left second-guessing if he’s trying to draw out their time together. Kylo is getting closer and closer to leaving the nest, and leaving Hux behind. 

He’s going to ask Ematt for something more challenging. Maybe field interrogation? Get assigned to one of the ground ops groups. Hang back behind the cannon-fodder soldiers, extract information on the fly… it’d be more dangerous, sure, but it would also be interesting. (And, co-incidentally, _away from here_.)

The meal they get served is nice. Real food. Not that they were eating rubbish before, but this one he can tell is… well. Straight from the mess. So as nice as everyone else got tonight. He waits until they’re finished before he broaches the issue.

“Your mother asked you to move in with her, short-term, didn’t she?”

Kylo’s nose wrinkles. “Yes.”

“Whilst I can see the good intentions behind it… it might not be the best for you, do you agree?” Not that he wants to lead him _away_ from his mother, just… towards the best option.

“I’m not a child any more. I appreciate she wants to help, but… I don’t think I could live under her roof again.”

“There’s the possibility of getting a pre-fab hut put up near hers. Pod-based. You know? Or will that be too close, too?”

“…I think I’d like to have a little distance. Not off in the woods, but… a bit on the edge of the base. If it’s possible. Unless someone needs to be around to monitor me?”

“I think if we’re letting you out, that’s it. You’re out, not under some house-arrest.”

“Right. So. I can have the pod put anywhere?”

“Or have a more settled and established home. We always have a few spare. It’s just if you want to put down somewhere that there isn’t a home that the pod would come in useful.”

There’s a pause, then. A pause in which Hux – for once – really does wish he could read minds. Usually it’s not a real draw: it would make his job too easy. But right now, he’d like to know what’s going on behind the sudden fall of hair. 

“Where would you recommend? Uh… where… are you?”

Oh. _Huh_. “I’m on the Eastern side, nearer to this block for convenience. The pilots all bunk near the ships, and the engineers are usually there, too. Everyone else is… scattered.” The pilots and the engineers are there for ease of access, not because of any segregation, but people do flock together. It’s in their nature to group by bonds.

“Is it quiet? Where you are.”

“Relatively, yes.”

“Are there any spare rooms?”

Hux narrows his eyes, but Kylo won’t look at him. He smiles, anyway, and lets it seep into his tone. “There’s always space there. People usually avoid the prison block, you know.”

“Unless it’s their job or… they’re a guest,” Kylo guesses, looking up at last. “Are you… are you going to… when I’m out?”

“I’ll still be around, if that’s what you mean.” Unless he gets the job on the front lines, in which case it will be less than before. Obviously. He does not mention this.

“Great. I mean. I know you’re only talking to me because of my mom, but…”

“It isn’t just for your mother.” Maybe to begin with. After that, it became pride. After _that,_ it became personal. It’s very much no longer a matter of Leia, and Leia probably wishes he was less involved than he is. 

“Well. Okay. When… when they’re ready to let me out, I think I’m ready, too.”

“I’ll comm your mother in the morning. Unless you want to?”

“I’ll do it. It will sound better coming from me.”

And to think, a week ago? He wouldn’t even talk to her. He would hardly even agree she was his biological mother. Yes. This is definitely going down on his record. Not that there’s real medals for something like this, and not like he even needs – or wants – anything but a quiet recognition of his efforts.

“Holonovellas?”

“Or… whatever you want?” Kylo offers.

Hux does not watch much fiction, really. He’ll have it on as background noise sometimes, just voices to fill his home. He didn’t grow up with stories like that, so he’s never gone out of his way to immerse himself. He’d watched a few things alone, caught a few movies, but… they hadn’t clicked with him.

They’re better with a – with company.

“Holonovellas. They’re easy on the mind.”

“Alright.” Kylo goes to fire up the screen.

***

There’s not so much a pardon, on account of there being no criminal charges levied against him (or any of the First Order – which is a travesty, but a fight for another day), but there _is_ something in writing, now. An amnesty, an immunity from future prosecution, should anything happen down the line.

The Republic doesn’t even want to admit there could be something down the line, even as Resistance fighters spend their lives trying to keep the galaxy (and democracy) safe. They probably signed off on Leia’s carte blanche on the assumption that _it would never be necessary_. Short-sighted, if you ask him.

After all, Sheev Palpatine rose within the ranks of the Senate itself. The Empire was forged _within_ their hallowed halls, and the self-proclaimed ‘Supreme Leader’ Snoke is just another Sheev. The First Order is the Empire without the bankruptcy claims associated to it: the ideals are the same, the _uniform_ is even the same. It’s like putting a placard on a nerf and saying it isn’t a nerf because you gave it another name.

It’s still a kriffing nerf.

Whatever. Kylo is safe. He’s free. No one seems to have any _major_ problem with him, and the fact that he’s normally been a last recourse from the Order helps. They didn’t send him out unless they needed to, and although the list of missions he’s been involved in (crimes, call them crimes, Hux) is long, it could be longer.

War. He has to remember that. War. The rules are different. It explains, but it does not excuse.

And they’re here. In his small, squat apartment. The building is detached from its neighbours, but only by a few feet. No mutual walls, but the yards out front are one long, thin strip. Someone’s taken to planting kitchen plants through the plot. Smart.

Kylo doesn’t have much in the way of personal belongings, really. He wasn’t captured with much but his clothing and weapon, and Leia’s confiscated the former, but allowed the latter. The morale of having a Force-user (even non-Jedi) on their side outweighs the nerves about him carrying that on his hip.

Which is right. Kylo could kill people with the Force without needing the blade. It makes it cleaner, neater, but it’s not essential. 

Hux still kind of wants to see it under less violent circumstances. It’s unstable, deadly – like its owner – but it has a strange beauty in all that chaos. He’d never wanted, as a child, to be a Jedi. Especially doesn’t now, but he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on that thing. Even just… just once. Just to twist it in his wrists, to… imagine.

He doesn’t know how Kylo would feel about it, so he doesn’t ask. After all, the Knight might still feel indebted to him, and resent him asking, but feel compelled to agree. It’s probably intensely personal, right? And they’re supposed to only be for Force-sensitives, even if a non-sensitive _can_ wield them. So… later. Possibly.

Inside, the small living arrangements are decorated in the Resistance style (Spartan, cheap, utilitarian, bright, functional), with the basic amenities and no personal touches. Kylo has nothing to make it personal yet, so…

“I brought you something,” Hux says, as they cross into the main (but small) living room. 

“Oh?”

“Nothing major. Just…” He holds out the small box. “So you feel like it’s the start of being home.”

Kylo beams from ear to ear, taking the box with reverence. Maybe the first gift he’s had in a long time, and his fingers are giddy when they prise open the lid.

Inside is a sturdy, base-weighted mug. The kind that topples less easily on a ship. It’s almost jet black, dotted through with tiny specks of stars. “When it gets hot, or cold, it changes to different colours,” he explains.

“I…” Kylo clearly doesn’t know how to deal with such a kindness. His eyes crease, his fingers stroking the sleek sides of the mug. “You’re staying for caf.” 

“Am I?”

“Yes. It would be rude not to accept my housewarming invitation.”

Two people, and caf. Some housewarming. Hux takes the box, and says: “I’d better help tidy up, then.”

***

Kylo’s pantry has barely anything in it. It makes sense, but it also makes for an interesting attempt at snacks. Hux frowns when he goes through the cupboards, wondering what heathen tried to pass this off as normal. 

“Okay. That does it,” he growls.

“…okay?”

“I’m going to bring you real food. Just don’t tell anyone where you got it.”

“Okay…”

“Make the caf, and get some holo or music ready. I’ll be ten minutes.”

Hux slips out of the apartment, and heads towards his own. He grabs a rucksack and tosses in some of his own things. It’s not contraband, it’s just hard to get hold of. There’s a slab of fine dark chocolate, laced with candied fruit and alcohol, some savoury nibbles, and a bottle of Corellian brandy. Or… three quarters of one. It’s nothing really special, but it’s more homey than the almost ration packs they’ve given Kylo. 

He pauses, then grabs a couple of little jars of spices and chillies, too. He loves those, so it’s a hard sell to pack them away, but he knows how just a few little dashes of a spice can lift even boring meals. Kylo likely will get more of a kick from them than he does, as he’s been on mess hall rations, and First Order food before that. Into the bag they go, and then he shoulders it and goes back around.

Kylo has the caf ready. His is in his mug (now blazingly red-yellow like a star up close). He’s beaming up from the couch, waiting.

“You found something?”

“Yeah. What did you _bring_?”

“Just some creature comforts.”

Kylo beams from ear to ear. “Can I see?”

Hux unpacks them, one by one. He can feel the happiness radiating off in waves, even for such a small thing as sharing rare supplies, and he knows he made the right choice.

“Want a splash of the brandy in your caf?” Hux asks.

“…I’ve never been drunk,” Kylo confesses.

“It’ll take more than a caf with brandy to do that to you.” But. “It would be a shame not to properly toast your new place. What’s say we finish the caf, then we drink the brandy?”

“Yes. Yes please.”


	13. Chapter 13

One half of three quarters is one and a half quarters. No. Well. Yes. It is. But that’s messy. It’s… it’s… three eights. Yes. Better. Three eights, which – if a quarter is twenty-five percent, is twenty-five and half of twenty-five which is… not enough to be this drunk, seriously.

Okay, so Hux hasn’t been drinking since that night, but his tolerance level has never been _this_ low. Even when he first got drunk. It’s stupid. And yet, here he is, laughing _aloud_ at this ridiculous holo Kylo found.

It’s just… it probably isn’t supposed to be funny. If it’s aiming for scary, it needs its sights recalibrating. The low budget doesn’t help, but it’s more that the ‘monster’ is just… everyone reacts way over the top about it. They could just kill it, or get away, but instead they’re running around shrieking.

The best (worst?) part is that it could almost be a First Order propaganda film. It’s got all that ‘different is bad’ aesthetic to it, the unreasoned, unthinking fear of otherness. The monster literally has no real motivation – not even survival instinct – and is tormenting them just because. Either it’s sick, or dumb, because there’s no way any creature would bother to go this far out of its way. Sentient life would be smarter. Animal life would be smarter, but in a different way.

And Kylo laughs just as hard, covering his mouth and nose to hide the gigglesnorts. Dark Side users should _not_ sound like that. It makes Hux giggle, too, and he has to grab a cushion to curl around to keep himself from rocking back and forth hysterically.

“Stop it.” 

“You started it,” Kylo snarks, his eyes blinking a bit more than usual.

“I did not.”

“Did too. You so did.”

Hux hits him with the cushion, just as the Generic Hero Character slays the rubber-faced antagonist. He yells in annoyance.

“What?”

“I was rooting for the monster!”

“You fucking weirdo.” But the tone in his voice is fond, and Kylo might have been siding with them, too.

“Well, that’s ruined, now,” Hux says, and lets his head fall onto the couch’s tall back.

“Sorry. I’ll find one where the good guys lose, next time,” Kylo promises. He’s pulled both feet up, ankles under his ass, arms around his legs. He’s too big to climb on the furniture properly.

“Please do. It’s more realistic. It would have killed them all, if it wanted to.”

“Maybe it didn’t want to?”

“…huh?”

“If it wanted to, and it could… maybe it didn’t want to be a monster,” Kylo suggests. “Maybe it just wanted to be it, and they provoked it. Or… I dunno.”

This is about more than the monster isn’t it? Hux is too drunk for this, and they were just happy, and now it’s… it’s like the whole night is teetering on the edge. “That’s why I was siding with it. It’s not just… it’s not like the Order says, you know. Not everything’s about fighting.”

“I didn’t mean—” Kylo cringes into himself.

Hux puts a hand on his knee, and holds it there. “It’s a dumb holo, but it shows… it shows that stuff’s more complicated. Right?” 

“I guess.” 

He’s being sullen, now. Fuck.

“Kylo… no one thinks you’re a monster. Not anyone who talks to you.”

“They should.”

Okay. This is getting out of control. Kylo’s spiralling right back down into himself, and alcohol _is_ a depressant, but this elation-to-despair is faster than Hux has brakes for. “Kylo… stop it. You’re – you’re not. Okay? You didn’t want to be what they made you do, and—”

“I still **did** them,” he interrupts.

“And you had a lightsaber at your throat. Seriously. You weren’t free, but you still were strong enough to come back. You’re not a monster.”

Kylo’s face goes into Hux’s shoulder, then. “I’m sorry. It just… it reminded me.”

“It’s okay,” he says, trying that soothing thing others are so much better at than he is. If anything, he’s the monster. He’s here, ‘safe’, and he can’t act like normal people can. He clumsily, drunkenly strokes at Kylo’s hair, and the sobbing sound makes him startle.

“…d-don’t… don’t stop, please.”

Oh. A good sob. Okay. Hux lets his hands into those dark, soft trails. He scrunches his fingers into them, curls through, and pulls out as if he’s combing them. He hardly notices – no – he does notice… he notices when Kylo presses against his side, the hot breath against his neck. The heat his body radiates, the way his leg slides down to the ground by way of stroking all along his own thigh. 

He notices, but he doesn’t feel like it’s uncomfortable, as he usually does. It doesn’t feel like it’s two shades short of agony, or instil a feeling of needing to run. Hux massages his fingers over Kylo’s scalp, and the tiny sounds of pleasure that pulls out of him are… good. They feel good. It’s weird. 

Soon he’ll be gone. The thought won’t quit. Kylo will be gone, so Hux will be sure he’s gone, first. This won’t matter. It will be a dirty secret, a story from before that neither of them want to watch on repeat. They’ll be able to deny all of it. It’s a step away from reality, a step into somewhere else (somewhere that exists in a bubble, a vacuum, a world of its own). It’s safe, until the bubble bursts. 

Eventually, they move. The couch isn’t big enough, but somehow Hux manages to slide sideways and end up with his head not-too-cricked onto the cushion. Kylo lies on his own side, trapped between Hux and the back of the couch. 

Legs sort of tangle, and Kylo’s head is on his shoulder, still. He keeps playing with his hair, and the feel of exhalations against his cheek and throat are tickly-warm. An arm loops around his waist, and it’s… nice. To know, for once, what people feel like when they’re held by someone else. It’s not that bad, but that’s because it’s Kylo. If someone else tried this, he’d likely shoot them between the eyes. (After a verbal warning, and a warning shot, of course.)

Their breathing slowly falls into synch. Rise and fall. Rise and fall.

“I don’t want you to go away,” Kylo mutters, when he knows Hux can’t see his eyes.

“I think I’m too tired for that,” he replies, deliberately misunderstanding. Or – perhaps – inviting correction.

“Yeah. But. Don’t.”

Just ask me to stay, he thinks. And then he thinks it’s dumb. They’re not meant to be around one another so much, and it’s only the situation that’s doing this. Kylo will find a more sensible, emotionally available person. Someone who he isn’t likely captor-bound to. Someone who can be a real friend (or more) to him. Someone who knows how to do the finer parts of socialising, which Hux does not. 

For now, he strokes his hair. He can enjoy the short time they have, before Kylo rebels against him, too. He doesn’t want to get too attached, knowing… well. He’s never had someone _to_ lose, before. It’s been a moot point. But he thinks if he lets himself like him any more, when the inevitable separation comes… Hux doesn’t want to think how it will feel.

Kylo falls asleep curled around him, and Hux doesn’t even mind the crick in his neck.

***

In the morning, Hux wakes first. His mouth feels like he licked a Sandperson’s asshole, and he needs to piss very, very badly. This is made worse by the heavy weight across his torso, which is Kylo Ren using him as a bed.

There’s a sudden flicker of something in his body, and he shoves at Kylo in his haste.

“Up.”

Kylo’s answer contains only consonants.

“Kylo! I need to piss!”

The man doesn’t behave, so Hux squirms and wriggles, and _no that is not helping things with the weirdness_ but he also really needs to empty his bladder. After an elbow nearly goes down his throat, Hux manages to slip from under him and stagger into the ‘fresher.

Where he has to slam the door shut, because apparently his fucking dick can’t decide if it wants to have fun or give his bladder release. He pulls his fly down and tries to touch his cock as little as he can and angle it to the pan.

Where it still isn’t convinced.

“I do _not_ have time for this,” he hisses at his anatomy. “I need to – would you behave?”

Fine. He turns the tap on high, and listens to the sound of trickling water until it convinces his body to co-operate. The relief is palpable, and he tucks his (now reluctant) dick away and washes his hands. 

His body feels not as bad as it could. Admittedly the amount of liquid poison he took in last night wasn’t that high, even if the side-effects were disproportionate. Mostly what he is right now is hungry and thirsty, stiff from the awkward sleeping position, and vaguely embarrassed that he appears to have passed out, snuggling, on Kylo’s couch.

There’s water, at least, so he pours himself a glass and drinks. And then a second one. He pours the third, but doesn’t drink it, and then a second one for Kylo. Back and into the living room, where the Knight is currently doing a good impersonation of a Wampa-skin rug. Face-planted into the couch, and snoring.

Well. He hasn’t been drunk before. Hux makes sure he’s not about to choke if he’s ill, adjusting his position slightly, and puts the water on the small table in close reach.

And leaves to go back to his own quarters.

He needs a shower, and he doesn’t have clean clothes here.

***

Okay, so it’s possible that was a dick move, he thinks, as he stands in the too-hot water. But he really did need to get changed, and also Kylo might not want to face him after spending all night in a compromising position, so this gives them both the opportunity to deny it. 

Which is sensible.

Because.

Reasons.

(A very, very small part of Hux shrieks at him in protest. It points out he’s being ridiculous, and childish, and pathetic, and a whole heap of other things. It points out he’s avoiding Kylo, and avoiding a connection, and that he’ll hurt the man’s feelings by running off, but… why? Nothing happened. Nothing happened, so he can just… shower if he wants and…)

When he gets out, towelling himself furiously, he sees his comm unit bleeping quietly. He doesn’t want to check it, but he has to.

Has to see if it’s…

On the bed, trying not to hyperventilate. What if it’s Kylo? What if it’s _Leia_?

Eventually he checks, and is surprised to see it’s neither. It’s Major Ematt.

His request to join the front lines has been accepted.

He’s leaving the base. Pretty much the same day, if he wants to. Hux doesn’t even think about it, he taps out a quick acceptance and hits send. He needs to leave before he has to face Kylo again, and the sooner he gets off-world the better.

Before his hair is fully dry, he’s packed enough to leave. 

Yes. This is the mature, adult, reasonable way to deal with his problems.

Same as he’s ever done.

_Run the fuck away from them_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@sakitura94](http://sakurita94.tumblr.com/post/151664591295/commission-for-sithofren-for-her-wonderful-fic) did this lovely art:
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	14. Chapter 14

Hux has the bags by the door. He doesn’t have much in his life, either. He realises as he’s packing just how little he has that’s _his_. Clothes, but those are essential. A comm unit he’s had for a while. No holos. No images of people. No stories. No home comforts.

A few edible things, a good caf machine he can’t bring with him… knives, chopping board… there’s nothing he can take with him that will feel like a piece of home. It isn’t even really a home, it’s just… it’s just where he’s been. And he hadn’t realised just how sterile his existence was, not until today. 

No gifts. No keepsakes. No mementos. No ‘I saw this and thought of you’s. Just. The detritus of existence. 

Well. It makes packing easy. He’s sure if someone came in and took over, if he was gone so long the place got reassigned, the only thing he’d miss would be the damn caf machine, and the feel of a mattress he’d broken in. He stares out at the room, wondering if part of him always knew he wasn’t right here.

Not… right. Just drifting. It’s not like he wants to go _back_. No. But it’s also…

There’s a knock at the door. 

Hux opens it, and finds Kylo standing on the other side. Which he should have expected, really, but somehow was hoping it wasn’t.

“Hey, I, uh, came to ask if you needed any shelves putting—” The words trail to nothing when his eyes see the bags just inside the doorway. “Oh.”

“Look. I’m sorry I ran out, but you were tired, and I needed a shower.”

“No. I… I shouldn’t have assumed anything.” His voice is hurting, and this is precisely why this is a bad idea.

“Okay. Still. Sorry. I should have left a note.”

“Or maybe not left?”

“I told you, I needed a shower.”

“Yeah, but… you know what? Forget it.” Kylo’s expression closes right down, and he takes a step backwards. “I get it. You got what you set out for. So now you’re bored. Fine.”

“That’s… Kylo, that’s not why I’m leaving. Look, once… once you were better, I was always going to need to find something more challenging.”

“Yeah, I know.” Anger floods in, anger like he hasn’t heard in weeks. “You just wanted another good mark on your permanent record. Well. Congratulations. You can fuck off to whatever it is you want, now you’ve got my mom’s blessing.”

“This isn’t about your mother.” Not any more. It stopped being about Leia so, so long ago. “I’m just… stagnating. There’s nothing left for me to do here.”

“Yeah. Okay. My fault for thinking you maybe liked spending time with me. Even though I knew damn well it was all just a job to you. Have a good time laughing at me; I’d appreciate if you didn’t do it in front of me, though.”

Kylo turns on his heel, hands whirling with his rapid spin. There’s anger in his shoulders, down his spine. A thick, molasses-claggy feel to the air. 

Hux wants to tell him: no. Tell him it wasn’t just a job. Tell him he really _is_ glad he’s better. Tell him he hopes he’ll be happy, now. Hopes he’ll move on, without him to hold him back. Hopes the galaxy unfurls like it should for him. Hopes he won’t resent him.

Instead, he claps his teeth together, and watches him walk off.

Yeah. Handled that really well. Although, how else could they break off, but hot-headed and fierce, the same as everything else? In a way, he supposes he’s lucky Kylo didn’t punch him. That progress again.

He closes the door, and checks his chrono. A few hours, and he’ll be out of Kylo’s hair. Probably for good. Plenty of other bases he can call home than this one, after all.

***

Ematt’s mission turns out to be crewed by people Hux has never met before. He’s read the dossiers on all of them (including the psych evals), so when they all meet to head out, he greets them by name. There hasn’t been a field specialist in information extraction for some time, so he’s treated to curious glances.

Still. They seem to accept him as one of theirs, after a brief series of private jokes that go way over his head. He’s clapped on the shoulder three times. He does not return the favour.

The troop carrier they’re based out of is an older model, like many of the Resistance’s ships. Hux is used to the slight peculiarities of their fleet: the occasional sticking door, the sounds of creaking and groaning. It’s reassuring, in a way, knowing the ships are creatures with a history, too. 

The First Order’s ships would all be indistinguishable from one another. Once you’d been on one, you knew them all. No quirks, no peculiarities. Much like the people.

This craft – aptly named the _Aphelion_ – has indentations where his fingers curl under the seats. He likes to imagine many people have held on tightly during take-off and landing. Likes to think they all walked out of here safely at the end of their missions. He drops into a strange not-quite-there trance as they fly through hyperspace, and he forgets what half of his body even is. The only things he can feel is the curves under his fingers, the place his lips meet, and the sound of blood in his head. It’s like everything else drops away, and he rocks with the slightest move of the ship, feeling it like an embrace. Like—

Of a sudden, he thinks of Kylo. He thinks of the smell of brandy-breath, and the sensation of hair under his fingertips. The reassuring weight, and the way he’d felt… important. He’d felt like someone… cared, and—

His mind just whites out. It’s like the computing part of it utterly crashes to a halt, encountering an illegal operation and refusing to go on. Just nothing. 

He looks up, but no one seems to have noticed his little start. None of them know him well enough to read into his behaviours yet, or maybe they just don’t care. They talk, or sit quietly, or even nap. No one even really looks at him beyond the occasional slide of eyes, and thin, well-meaning but meaningless smile. 

It’s what he wanted, after all. To be away, where no one knows him. To hide in a group, like a herdbeast seeking immunity in the masses. Sure, they’ll attempt to bond with him, but they’ll soon see he’s too devoted to his job to get close to them. He’ll be seen as useful for his skills, and then left to his own devices.

Hux doesn’t want anything else. He’s only good at one thing, really, and if they appreciate that then he’ll be content. 

He knows their names. He knows their files.

That’s all he wants from them.

***

Tactical gear. Man. It’s been a while. He didn’t even really wear it in the Order, but that was because – after the brief awareness period where all the to-be officers tried it on and laughed internally about the mooks who were destined to die, but didn’t admit to it aloud – he’d been expected to rise through the ranks of the command structure, only. 

The Resistance doesn’t go in for much in the way of protective gear. Money. Hux still brought his own with him, even if it was just a simple undershirt designed to soak some of the energy of a blaster up. To be honest, it likely doesn’t take more than one hit, but neither would he. 

It sits under his uniform, making movement a little more stiff, but he still has his full range. It’s warmer, but as they’re not on a particularly hot planet, that should be fine. He pulls out his blaster for one final check over, examining it visually, pressing the safety firmer on, and reholstering it. 

Hang back. That’s what the skipper said. That’s what he’d asked for. Hang back. Stay in the middle, flanked. Don’t charge in, and don’t bring up the six. Be _nobody_ , right until he needed to be _somebody_. 

Not like that will be hard for him. He’s good at being nobody.

Hux moves with the flow, standing ready to disembark and waiting for his cue. The first few hit the ground running, and he knows they’re going into a potentially hostile situation. There’s been word there might be intel, here. Intel into how to get Luke Skywalker to come home. Apparently bringing his wayward Padawan back isn’t enough, but whatever.

(Why does his life revolve around the Force?)

Down go the first five, and Hux launches after them. Eight. Eight, including him. Hardly an army, but hardly discreet, either. He walks out into the sun, and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

***

Join the Resistance, they said. Save the galaxy. Uphold democracy. Fight for freedom.

Get your ass shot at. Watch as your newly-introduced team-members get shot at, too.

Watch one of them literally get his chest burned out next to you. Throw yourself to the ground and cover your head and pretend you’re dead. Try very hard not to wet yourself in sheer terror, when you realise you actually have done nothing but shoot at fabricated targets and shake people down who are already chained to the table in years.

Remember you sold your own avoidance of the front to be tactical, when there’s the very real element of you not wanting to die a ridiculous death with the potential for soiled pants. 

Lie _really, really still_ when you hear the footsteps come closer, and whatever you do…

Don’t look up when you hear the hum of a lightsaber.

Hux forgets that last one, for a moment wondering if Kylo’s come to save him. As if he’d know, or maybe he’d had a vision, or maybe he’d just wanted Hux to come back home where it was safe… but the sound from this red blade is more stable, more focussed, and Hux looks up along the length of it to the masked face above.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. It’s one of the Knights. One of _Kylo’s Knights_. One of **Snoke’s Knights**. The body is androgynous, under all those swathes of black, and even if he hadn’t moved, he’s sure the Dark Sider could sense his still-living ass on the ground.

So now he looks like a coward. Which maybe he is. He stares at the black face, impossible to read, and offers a smile. “Suppose this is where we exchange names?”

Hux isn’t prepared for what comes next. How could he be? Kylo’s use of the Force had been mostly kinetic, with the odd push of his own thoughts in when words were too hard. It had all been external, and not really internal. Not like this.

The Knight’s mind pushes into his own like a fist going through his eyes, raking over his brain and making the inside of his skull bubble and boil. He’s dimly aware of a scream – his own? – and then his mind whirls away from the moment, crashing backwards through recent memories quite against his own will. He’s pulled painfully from the shower onto Kylo’s couch, back into the cell, beyond… and then it stops.

All at once, the heavy feel of someone else in his head drops, and he cries out again in shock. His body feels cold, drained, and he drops his forehead to the ground. His eyes are wet, his stomach bucking like a Tauntaun, and the fact that only the memories of Kylo were important sticks in his craw.

Even here, he plays second fiddle to him. His only worth being his connection to their erstwhile Master. 

“He got better,” he says, even if he’ll regret it. “Maybe you should try it, too.”

Something cracks him on the skull, and he doesn’t think any more. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: violence

When Hux comes to, it’s dark. Really dark. His head is throbbing, but that’s the only thing that hurts. (Thankfully.) He tries to wriggle, then realises he can’t. There’s a band holding his head down, and one around his waist. His wrists and ankles are cuffed, and he’s strapped to—

 _Oh no_. He remembers these. He remembers these from back _then_. He never used his talents for the inside of people’s heads here, but he’d definitely had the seed of it planted when he’d been brought in to watch some hapless soul being…

Wow. He’d forgotten that, too. Somehow he’d blanked out a whole other section of his memory. How did that happen? He’s interrogated people plenty, surely that should have triggered the echo off? But apparently not. He’s been living in abject denial of the time he saw someone in one of these, and now he wishes he could go back to that blissful ignorance. 

Oh, how stupid he’s been. If only he’d been content to be a nobody – to sink into mediocrity – he’d not be here, now.

About to be interrogated himself. 

Whippie.

Hux tries to turn his head – and then his eyes – to look around the room. It’s almost pitch, with only a sliver of light from under the door, and the faint, ambient glows in the wall panels. It’s on low power mode, because they don’t want to waste electricity on him. Of course.

Think. Think. Work out a strategy. He knows at least two of his team are dead, if not all of them. If they survived, they’ll likely be held away from one another, unless they don’t crack. ‘Interrogating’ (torturing) two team-mates in front of one another is a sure-fire way to make one of them crack in most situations. The guilt of watching someone suffer is harder for the morally constipated ones, who hold the cause to be more important than their own comfort and survival. 

But make someone scream in front of the bleeding-hearts and they sharp re-evaluate their priorities. 

Hux is not a bleeding-heart. He’s not sure what he really _is_ , but he’s not… he’s not a… what is he?

He’s not going to switch sides, not and mean it. Even if the memory of how he’d done that very thing to Kylo not long ago is fresh in his mouth, and the irony is like a heavy weight across his shoulders. Kylo had a reason to revert, and Hux has none. 

What did the Order ever do for him? Taught him to be a machine, an emotionless, functional, efficient… thing. Lesser, even, than a droid. Honed him into a weapon. Made him… _wrong_. Made him this flinching, bitter, solitary thing. 

Made him break, even though it’s a different kind of broken. Not the snap of a mind under a short burst of pressure, spilling secrets to make the pain stop. No, in him… it’s deeper. It’s the things he could have been and never became. It’s the things he never learned: love, affection, friendship, caring. It’s the way he recoils from touch. It’s the way he never feels good enough. It’s the way he drifts, disconnected, dissociated. 

He’s been getting by, but it’s all been a patina of normalcy over the soulless thing below. Like a sociopath or psychopath, aping normal. Knowing what he _should_ say, think, do, feel. Acting as if he did. When he didn’t.

No, there’s no warmth in his memories of this place. His father is long dead, but even if he weren’t, he doubts he’d let them keep him alive after the intel gathering. He’s an embarrassment to the man, even dead. He’d be even less likely to claim kinship with his son now, than he ever did before he left. Part of him wonders if the shame of raising a traitor was what did for him in the end. He’ll never know.

No loving arms are waiting for him to see the Light. Or the Dark. No one likely even cares if he wants to defect or not. He’s too old to be trained, and if they realise he was Brendol’s son… would that work for, or against him?

Hux doesn’t belong here, either. He may not belong fully with the Resistance, but he still had more of a connection to them than he does to this dark, gunmetal world of slaughter and torment. No. He’ll die, once they’ve got all they need from him. Die, and be yet another statistic. The thought is not welcome.

He turns his head back front and centre, trying to get as comfortable as he can while he still has the option of it. If they’re going to use a Knight on him, no amount of training or preparation will really keep his secrets to himself. If they’re going to soften him up with troops, droids and drugs? He might hold out a little longer. 

Hux has to remind himself there’s no shame in being broken by the Force, even if he won’t believe himself. If Kylo Ren couldn’t resist it, what hope does he have? Not that he’s doing much good, now. He is supposed to be shoring himself up, but instead he’s catastrophising and predicting. This is why he’s been left alone: the creative, intelligent ones always half-break themselves. The ones who can imagine what will come, who can conceive of their future pain.  

What’s imagined is always far worse than what’s real, for people like him. When it’s happening, there’s always an element of it being too much to process, and so the mind shields. When it’s just prophetic nightmares, it’s impossible to run from. 

And what’s worst (to him) right now is that they don’t even care who he is. Kylo got captured, and got treated like the prodigal son, even as he denied his birthright. Hux… will they even make the link? If they do, will they care? Brendol had been high up in the command, had been powerful and important. But will anyone even think that matters? 

Brendol is gone. His son, without the father still alive, is… nothing. To them. He left before he could get too high in the ranks. Here, he’s nothing: his peculiar strengths are barely noticeable. In a group so fundamentally morally bankrupt, he’s pretty much just using an arranged overdraft. His skills at extracting information are barely on a par with someone who can slam in and pull out whatever memory they want. He’s nothing, compared to the Knights. 

No one would want to turn him, when there’s hundreds of thousands of others who could take his place. 

Yep. Not like he has a valid reason to hate fucking Force-users. Nope.

By the time the interrogator comes in, it’s almost a breath of fresh air from the inside of his skull. Which, coincidentally, still hurts. He peers up and squints at the sudden rush of light from behind, silhouetting them. 

They’re shorter than Kylo. Maybe even shorter than him. An inflated profile, made to look more threatening by the ceremonial garb. It might work on someone else, but Hux has seen what lies below for at least one of their number, and it’s hard to take them seriously as a Boogie-Man when you know that Kylo laughs at holonovellas.

That memory hurts.

“You’re going to tell me where the Resistance base is.”

“What’s the point? They will have already evacuated.”

“Not if they don’t know you’re missing.”

“There’s check-in protocols.”

“And we’re following them,” the man (it sounds like a man, below the reverb added by the mask) says.

Which is likely bullshit, because whoever they’re expecting him to think is complying? They’d know that perpetuating the ‘safe’ calls home would extend their torture, would endanger everyone. He read their psych evals. He knows they’d sooner die, or even suffer, than be single-handedly responsible for the signal being tracked at the same time as being sent, lulling the Resistance into a false sense of security before striking out against them.

He does not say that it’s bullshit, but he thinks it as loudly as he can.

“You’re going to tell me, so it’s your choice how painful we make this.”

“Not really. If it was my choice, you’d have my feet in a warm bath of water. Maybe combined with a backrub and scented candles.” Right, tease your captor. Insult them. Great going. Not that his options are all that good, now.

On cue, the pressure builds again. It’s less of a surprise this time, though it’s just as painful. He can feel the air on his face as the presence rips into him, and he can’t help but wonder if Kylo would feel the same. How would things have gone if Kylo had captured him, first?

Likely he’d not have bothered to even try to crack him, throwing him to droids, blades, needles. But if he had, how would it have felt? He wonders, and wonders how much better he’d have been than—

Something shifts in his mind, and when he looks up, the mask has changed. It’s one he’s never seen in person, but knows intimately well. Kylo’s mask. Kylo’s mask, and that isn’t _right_ , but he can’t for the life of him figure out why.

Harder. Like his brain wants to burst out through every orifice. An electric shock that coils down his spine. He’s straining against the restraints, desperate to escape the pain. It won’t end, but that doesn’t stop him trying his damndest, calling out in wounded agony. His tongue feels like it's swollen so much his throat is closing, and novae spark and explode behind his eyes. 

The memories press again, and he’s looking up at the night sky, admiring the stars (and giving away too much), a jumble of thoughts of when he flew to or from the planet. Glimpsed navicomp co-ordinates, tugged thoughts of _home_ that isn’t  home that unravel the location, piece by tiny piece.

D’Qar. They have D’Qar, now. He couldn’t hold it back. They know.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Even knowing he can’t resist something like this, it’s a killer. He bursts into uncharacteristic tears, self-loathing too much to ignore. He’s given them up, and if they don’t know to move, there’s going to be a blood bath. 

Hux doesn’t feel much of an emotional connection to most of them, but there’s a few (Kylo, Ematt, maybe even Leia herself) who he really doesn’t want to see hurt. Not that he wants to see any of them hurt, but some of them he could write down as casualties of war. His clinical detachment – usually his greatest asset – is no longer… absolute. 

“Oh, I’ll hurt them, alright,” the Knight promises. “I’ll even keep you alive to see it. To see how you betrayed them all.”

“I didn’t,” Hux argues, weakly. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, but you did.”

More pain. After a while, it’s supposed to stop getting worse, right? Or he was supposed to become immune to more, or black out, or something. It’s why he’s always careful not to overdo the physical torment, but this isn’t physical. This is deeper, this is right into his limbic system. The Knight can keep him aware and awake through everything. 

His mind flits back to Kylo again, and he doesn’t know if it’s himself begging for help, or associating with the false-mask in front of him, or if it’s guided interrogation. He doesn’t want to think about Kylo at all _ever_ , but especially not now, and the Knight has to know that. 

“You have a crush. How cute.”

“Fuck off.”

“You picked the wrong person to like.”

“Yeah, well.” Not really the wittiest comeback of the standard year, but he’s barely conscious. He’s not even sure if the conversation is aloud or not. 

“He’ll come back to us. He always does. The Dark always wins.”

“Go deep-throat a lightsaber. You don’t know—ARGH.” Tormenting the Force-user is a bad idea. Hux can’t stop. “You don’t want to admit you’re wrong and he’s happy.”

“So happy. So very happy.”

A flash of their fight. Another of them in the cell, wrestling. Another of Kylo curled into a ball, staring at the wall. 

“He only spoke to you at all to get out of there, so he could come home to us.”

“Funny how he’s not here, right now,” Hux drolls.

“No, he’s going to see the Leader.”

He… he would, wouldn’t he? If he came back, he’d go straight to the man in charge. He’d be welcomed back (after some probing to prove his loyalty). He wouldn’t mess around with Hux, unless he felt like being personally vindictive.

Kylo wouldn’t do that. Even… even after Hux left him. He’d been sad, but he’d get over it. He had his mother, and the pilots, and everyone else, ever. They like him now, so he’s got no need to…

The hurt look in his eyes. Utter betrayal. Hux relives it over and over, the churn in his stomach getting firmer. Around and around like a machine coiling around laundry. Why? Fuck. Kylo doesn’t need him to stay ‘good’. He doesn’t. If he does, then he’s not really good at all, and…

After the images roll around once more, Hux goes limp in the chair. He can’t take any more of it, and he’s wiped. Even with the artificial focus and attention span drilled into his brain, it eventually becomes too much. He just… _goes_. 

“Pathetic,” the Knight says.

Hux definitely agrees. He’s almost catatonic, and when the Knight leaves the room… he almost can’t tell the difference.

He’s going to see the same images on repeat for as long as he can’t sleep. And then, then it will get _worse_. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: some mental sexual violation, but no actual physical violation

Hux wakes up, and he’s in a bed. Soft. Cool. Fresh-smelling sheets. Dappled light, and an absence of pain. He’s fully clothed, but he’s comfortable, and he doesn’t want to move at all. He hears the soft sound of breathing to his side, and turning his head, he sees Kylo lying next to him.

“Oh,” he says. “I’m still unconscious.”

“Sadly so,” Kylo replies.

“I guess it could be worse.” A lot worse. It also explains why it’s such a nice place to be in: the galaxy isn’t actually that kind to him, and never will be.

“I came to help you,” the not-real man tells him.

Hux can’t help but laugh at this, and he lets his head press into the pillow, blinking at the clothed Knight on top of the bed, beside him. “Did you, now.”

“Yes. To help save you.”

“Well, it’s nice of my subconscious to send you.” He might be best not talking to the voices in his head at all, but somehow that feels a bit rude to him.

“How do you know I’m not actually here? I mean, through the Force?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re just wishful thinking, Kylo. But like I say, it’s nice of my subconscious to send you along. I appreciate the sentiment.”

“…do you regularly have dreams where you invent visitors and converse with them?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“…no, can’t say I do. I just. I dream I’m me. No one else in the dream is part of me. They’re themselves, or things I remember happening.”

Hux shrugs, and stares up at a ceiling too far away to focus on. A hazy vanishing point, into which all lines go. “I’m everyone in my dreams. Sometimes I hop between people. Sometimes I’m both people at once. Sometimes ‘I’ am not even in the dream.”

“Huh. Weird.”

“Why?”

“I thought everyone only ever dreamt of themselves. I mean. In situations. Or at least watching them.”

“Oh.” Hux tries to feel the bed below his fingers, but there’s bits of the dream-canvas missing. Only some of the information is provided, and now he knows he’s dreaming, the edges fray a little more than usual. “I don’t know if it’s unusual to do that, to dream without being there.”

“Me either.”

“Well, you wouldn’t. You’re just a fraction of me, a facet of my sleeping mind.” He examines Kylo’s face, well-lit and open. “So you wouldn’t know anything I didn’t, on some level.”

“Unless I’m really here.”

“Why would you be?”

“Because I want to help you?”

“Again… I don’t really feel like arguing with myself. And if you _are_ here to help me, you’re doing a pretty piss-poor job of it.”

“Well, sorry. This isn’t exactly something I got training in.”

“I guess.” There’s nothing else in this room. Walls that fade into the distance, a ceiling that’s not real, a bed that only half feels there. A Knight who must be his survival instinct made manifest.

Of course Kylo is the only one he can cast in the role of protector. No one else would give half a fuck about him missing, other than the intel he might leak. And he and Kylo hadn’t parted on the best of terms, so this is a complete farce. If they can evacuate D’Qar, his absence will mean next to nothing.

“I am here to try help, you know.”

“Thanks, though I don’t see how. I can’t hold out against a Knight of Ren. He’ll break me, and it’s just a matter of how far he wants to _go_.”

“Well.” Kylo rolls, and the bed doesn’t tip, which is weird.

It’s like his brain knows the details that should be there, but it can’t reflect the complexity of the real world. Almost like a children’s poorly animated holo-show, with grossly reduced physics and huge patches of barely-textured backgrounds. 

“You know you’re going to tell him things. So you can control what you think about. Think loudly about other moments or memories, distract him.”

“Right. Because that’s going to—” 

“It will help more than you think. Think about the most intense stuff you can bring up. Fears. Anger. Hopes. When you used to be in the Order. Imagine stories, throw yourself into them… hold conversations like this one. Anything to keep him from what he wants, for as long as it takes for me to get to you.”

“Kylo, you’re _not coming for me_.”

“I am. Why else would I be here?”

“Because that’s what I _want_. Although I also don’t. Because—”

“Because you don’t want to be reliant upon anyone. I get it. Hux… I _get_ it. But you helped save me, so why can’t you allow me to return the favour? I bust you out, you come home, and everything is fine.”

Except it won’t. It can’t. It couldn’t. This is the problem: Hux doesn’t know how to live on D’Qar – or wherever they decamp to next – he’s not made for it. His existence has been at a remove, a palimpsest, a translucent layer that shows all the ones below. He’s a shadow in those places, and the thing that casts the shadow – the thing blocking the light – just isn’t there.

“False hope helps no one, Kylo.”

“There’s no such thing as false hope.” 

“Yeah, there is. Sometimes you’re just… screwed.” Like now. He’s not sure how much is left in his mind to be pulled out, actually. It’s entirely possible these are his last, fevered thoughts as his body shuts down. At least he only gave the Resistance up to a Knight. 

“Don’t give up on yourself, Hux. I’m going to find you.”

“Okay, if you insist.” Which is weird. He’s entirely convinced this other aspect of his mind is wrong. Which is insane. He actually is arguing with his own psyche, now. If he does ever get out of this, he’s going to need to hide this from any psych tech he talks to, or risk being grounded in a soft room forever.

“Either I’m real, and coming for you, or I’m not real, and you believe I will. In which case, I might come anyway.”

“We didn’t part on good terms, you do recall?”

“All the more reason for me to save you, you stubborn ass.”

Hux smiles. Just a little thing, but he feels his face shift. “If you insist.”

“I do. Remember: keep thinking of distracting things. The more memories you can pull up, the better. None of them are as skilled at mental manipulation as I am. Only Snoke is stronger than me.”

“…I think that’s supposed to be reassuring?”

“Just keep strong. I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Okay.” He still doesn’t believe it. He’s definitely going mad, but he can reassure the part of him that still holds onto hope. “I’ll try.”

***

Hux does not die yet. Probably. He isn’t sure what happens after you die, actually. He’s heard stuff about the Force, but he’s not Force-sensitive, so becoming ‘one’ with it doesn’t feel that reassuring. He’s heard rumours of dead Jedi coming back, but he’s not a Jedi, and he didn’t think to ask Kylo.

Also that might be a bit insensitive. He’s not sure what Kylo thinks – or feels – he is. Not a Jedi, it’s true, but is he a Sith? He certainly sounded like he liked the Force part of the Sith life, but maybe not the mass-murder that’s been associated with it, over the years. 

Maybe he’s just Kylo, first, and the Force – without labels – second.

Hux still doesn’t really want to die, even if it means escaping this.

Still in the chair, still bound down, feeling weak and hungry, undercut with a deep and body-wide nausea. He wants to go back to sleep with the hope of dreaming the discomfort away, but his captor has other things in mind.

“What do the Resistance know?”

“Lots of things,” Hux rasps, his voice barely functioning. Think of other things. That was what Kylo-apparition suggested. He thinks about the feeling of being inside the troop carrier. The way the door wasn’t quite aligned and the curve of the seat under his fingertips. He throws himself into the sense-flickers from before, trying to recall what the others’ faces looked like.

He can see the dossiers, the list of names and assessments. Donovan, with his older brother who died in the Rebellion, and who clearly wants to make the death mean something. Qotan, and her family slaughtered by the Empire. The twins, Bryce and Roly, who score as normal on nearly every chart, who never seemed to need counselling after rough missions. He can see them all, but not the faces.

Weird. 

Parann, the only face he can actually recall. Eyes blood-shot and mouth forever open, the hole in her middle where organs once had been. It’s awful, but the memory is strong and he can try to focus on the details of it and—

“ _The Resistance_ ,” the voice insists, and the word brings back other memories.

A symbol. Stark, swooping lines. A bird, rising from the ashes. The Republic has always been saved by those on wings, those who can fly quickly from battle to battle, who can shoot the small targets and fly in to—

His mind is getting too close, so he pulls it back again.

Poe. Poe Dameron’s brown eyes and the treacle-soft voice. The droid that follows him around, beeping cheerfully and rolling. It’s the nosiest droid Hux can remember. Astromech. Pilots have them, and he remembers walking past the cold, motionless body of the old Artoo unit.

Luke Skywalker’s droid. Scorched, scarred, and forever in waiting for a master long gone. Remembers the way his fingers had wanted to trail over the dome, and remembers feeling insignificant in comparison to this tiny, two-legged, slumbering monolith. R2-D2. Saviour of many days. Something out of old war stories.

“What are they planning?”

A rush of pain accompanying the question, jarring him from his thought-tracks. Blazing fire in his skull, sending him scrambling.

Plans. Diagrams. Schematics. Briefings.

No, he has to keep away from that memory, but it’s like saying don’t think of the Rancor. You can’t _not_ think of the Rancor, so instead he throws his mind elsewhere: positive action. That’s what Kylo had said, wasn’t it? Positive action, not just regret.

Luke Skywalker. That’s why they were here. Either the Order already knows, which is why they were on the planet to pick them up, or they laid the trap and it wasn’t even real intel about the map. The chances of them being picked off by a strike force with a Knight in, and it being entirely coincidental… is just too far-fetched to be believable.

Luke. Luke. He tries to pull out the distant memories of the man himself. Had he seen him? Or was it only holos? He went missing shortly after his nephew – Ben – left, and the time-line is a little confusing to him. He has some memories, but he’s not wholly sure they’re not fabrications of his later recollection, an attempt to patch in a crossed thread in their separate lives. Holos merging with truth, and a knowledge that is as fuzzy as the scruff on his face is.

Short. He knows he’s short. Shorter than Han Solo, shorter than Kylo Ren. One pilot amongst many, one Jedi amongst few. They’re looking for him to continue what he started, and this was meant to be the start of his return. 

(Maybe, on some level, a gift to Kylo. A possible future, again. A fresh start. A bridge once burned, now remade.)

But the memories are distant and the nagging presence keeps pulling him back towards now. It wants tactical information, and he doesn’t want to provide it. His head is thudding from the repeated resistance and refusal, but he has to keep it up. He has to keep the power in this, and not let them steal what he can’t spare. The longer he holds out, the more chance the Resistance has, and the longer _he_ remains useful and thus alive.

Are they dead? The others? They know… _less_. About— but they probably know other things.

If they’re alive. Which he has no way of telling. They probably have their own secrets, but they weren’t… they didn’t… _him_.

It all goes back to _him_. And he’s trying so hard not to let it, to think about anything but the tall, brooding man who now, apparently, enters his dreams. Hux grinds his teeth so hard his jaw aches up into his temples, his body tensing under the bonds as he fights the probing fingers.

Yes. It was recorded. Their time in the cells, he and Kylo. Yes, the man’s _mother_ watched every last minute. **No** , that doesn’t mean this Knight deserves to intrude on something so personal, so… intimate.

The mocking laughter at his fixation with the General’s son makes him want to lash out and say he’s coming to save him, but that’s not for him to know. All of it is private. All of it…

Waking up with him lying on top of him. The smell of his breath and his hair. The sensation and pressure of arms around him. The feeling – however brief – of safety, of… _home_. The rush of blood to his groin. 

_This man does not deserve to know about that_.

His body just reacted how any would, first thing in a morning, with a warm body snuggled close. The dawn-breaking hormones flooding through his system, the post-exhaustion relief. It wasn’t because of a crush. He didn’t have a crush. He doesn’t have a crush, and it doesn’t even matter, because there’s no long-term prognosis. Even if he does survive this, which there’s no saying he will. 

And the way his body reacts now is just because of the manipulation, and not because of any—

“GET OUT OF MY MIND!” he screams. 

“Not until you tell me _everything_.”

“THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO TELL.”

But the Knight presses harder on that tiny thrill, that little hopeful spark, and Hux feels more violated than he ever has in his life. He tries to pull away, but the other presence pushes him right back into that moment. Into the feeling in his groin he’d tried so hard to deny, and why does he even care? Why is it important to humiliate him so? It’s normal to get aroused. It is. And it’s not like it’s reciprocated, or even that he’d ever get a chance to find out, now. It’s… malice that makes him live it over and over, and malice that makes his poor cock swell, now, when he can do nothing about it, and doesn’t _want to_ , with the Knight right there.

He wants it to stop. He doesn’t want the memory to be sullied any more than it already is. A moment of almost-happiness, a morning after nothing but pleasant company, and it’s ripped open and made a laughing stock, and Hux can’t think of anything but Kylo, and how much he—how—

“Please,” he begs, broken and shaking. “Please stop.”

“Tell me what they’re planning.”

“Luke. That’s all. Luke. To kill Snoke. With Kylo. They want to kill him.”

It’s true. (It’s not the whole truth.) If he thinks hard enough about how much he hates Snoke… the moment goes on, and on, and on… bouncing around in a rictus of loathing and agony, and then the Knight leaves.

And when he’s gone, Hux doesn’t even feel relieved. He’s too overwrought, and all he can do is cry to himself until the exhaustion overwhelms him.


	17. Chapter 17

The troopers who manhandle him to the small ‘fresher and back don’t want to engage in conversation. He’s sure they’re trained not to, and eventually Hux realises he might as well talk to voices inside of his head than waste the energy moving his mouth for no response. The fact they are still bothering to feed and water and (rudimentarily) bathe him suggests he’s still worth keeping alive, though he’s not sure how much longer he can keep the planned strikes on the construction yards a secret.

Surely Poe and his pilots have already started? He hopes so. They were planning it when he left. So the only thing he’s still holding onto (that they know where those yards are, and plan to hit them) will soon be moot, and he’ll be bluffing his way into remaining alive.

Well. Unless the Knight (whose name he still does not know) plans on using him as leverage. He’d said that Kylo was going back to Snoke, but now Hux doesn’t know if that was just a lie, or a bluff on Kylo’s part that the Knight took. 

He’s _pretty sure_ that Kylo wouldn’t betray the Resistance again so fast. After all, Snoke had been nothing but cruel to him, over the years. It would make less than no sense, even if he was annoyed with Hux for running out on him. Hux wasn’t the real reason Kylo had turned back to his family, he was just the catalyst speeding up the reaction. And yes, their weird, enforced-proximity and captor-bonding links being abruptly broken will have been hard on him, but Hux is sure Kylo needed it.

He needed it. Hux did, too. He needed to know he could still move away, before Kylo left instead, and he had no choice but to deal with the separation. 

And whilst – on some level – he would be gratified to think he was the linchpin that Kylo Ren rotates around… that would be both a terrifying responsibility, and a very, very unhealthy mindset for the other man. Your whole moral code shouldn’t depend upon one other person. That isn’t a moral code at _all_ ; it would be some kind of psycho-pathology, instead.

But Kylo… he wouldn’t. Just to spite him, would he? He was doing better. He was getting back to himself. He doesn’t _need_ Hux to be ‘good’. He might have thought he did, but that’s why Hux had cut the apron strings, had let Kylo free to see he was strong enough on his own, and…

Not because he is a giant, emotionally unavailable coward. Not because he can’t stand the thought of being known. It’s… who is he kidding? As the straps go back on, cinching him to the chair, he knows this is because he’s afraid. And if he hadn’t been so afraid, he’d still be safe and sound and bored like normal people are. 

This is all his—

There’s a _hyzkhhhjyz_ sound that has his head snapping to one side, and then the doors slam back open. He sees crackling red first, and then his stomach lurches up into his mouth.

No. This is – it’s a hallucination. A fever-dream, again, or something designed to give him false hope, to get him to confess anyway, or to destroy him down deeper. It’s not… it’s not really _Kylo_.

It’s not really Kylo who follows that crackling saber. And it’s not him – unmasked – who waves a hand and makes both of the troopers buckle to nothing on either side of the interrogation chair. Although, if it isn’t him, why does he look like hell?

“I’ve come to rescue you,” he explains, entirely redundantly.

“Are you actually real?” Hux asks, which is maybe the least useful thing he could ask, because if this is inside of his head, of course Kylo would say ‘yes’, and anything he could ask him to prove his realness would be pointless because _it would still be in his head so fake Kylo would have access to his memories, too_.

Kylo seems to sense at least part of that, because his eyes narrow, and his lips thin. “Could you have your existential crisis when I get you on the ship home?”

“…okay.” It’s a reasonable request, all things considered.

Kylo’s saber still hums by his side, as the other hand gestures at the restraints and springs them open without making contact. Impressive. Hux isn’t sure if he’d imagine that if it was his dream, or not. Possibly. But he’s supposed to focus on the escape attempt, first, and he staggers forwards and nearly lands flat on his face.

It’s the Force that keeps him from falling, and he realises he’s staring at the ground in confusion as an invisible wall – no – _something_ – keeps him up. It’s not like there’s anything solid under his chest, and there’s no hands gripping him, or points of pressure suspending him, he simply… doesn’t keep falling forwards. As if being at a forty-five degree angle is as natural as ninety.

Which is weird, and very dream-like, vague and disorientating. And **not** helping with his very intense sense of dissociation. There’s a flash of black moving quickly, then Kylo ducks under his shoulder and takes some of his weight, his left arm snaking around Hux’s waist. There’s a real heat to him where they touch, and - other than the Force – Hux can _feel_ everything else, just like it’s slightly at a remove. Unlike the dreams before that had things missing, this is somewhere between, so he drives his teeth down into his lip for the sting of pain, needing to reassure himself that he’s _here_. That he’s here, and so is Kylo, and he’s really come for him?

“The… others?”

“They’re all dead.”

Fuck. _Fuck._ “…all of them?”

“I counted the bodies myself.” 

“You went to the LZ?”

Kylo nods, then suddenly there’s a hilt being pushed into his far hand. Hux stares down at the lightsaber Kylo’s wordlessly demanded he carries. He… wow. He really did that. 

It’s not the time to be over-awed by the gesture, or by the immediacy of the violence he’s holding, but he looks up, all the same.

“I need my hand free,” Kylo explains, right as he gestures and sends the four troopers running towards them out to hit the walls. He makes it look as simple as sneezing.

“Okay.” Not that Hux is going to be much use, exhausted and untrained as he is, propped up under one arm. Still, he guesses it looks pretty threatening? 

Resisting the urge to swish it left and right, Hux keeps the blade up as high as he can as Kylo half-carries him through what looks increasingly like the interior of a Star Destroyer. If it is a dream, either himself or the Knight has put an incredible amount of detail into the fixtures and fittings. Not a single bolt or joist is out of place as they hobble towards the hangar.

“How did you find me?”

“Let’s just say there’s a few more people in the interrogation bloc on the beta site,” Kylo explains. “I may have… gone a little hard on them.”

“They let you interrogate First Order captives?”

“…I didn’t exactly ask permission. This isn’t – uh – a cleared mission,” he admits, sounding sheepish. “You may have to visit me in jail when I get you back.”

Jail? What in the stars did Kylo _do_? “And how, exactly, did you get on board?”

“Well, those troopers _had_ a ship. Had being the operative—” and here there’s some grenades and flamethrowers, and Hux stares in somewhat-aroused horror at the bubble Kylo throws around them. The flames and smoke curl, unable to progress through it, and then die down. “…word. It’s in the hangar bay.”

Kylo dispatches the latest influx of now-terrified troopers even as they talk.

“I thought you couldn’t fly?”

“I can’t. Poe can.”

Poe. Poe Dameron. Of course he owes his life to him, who else? Kylo couldn’t have chosen any other pilot, ever, ever? Or even his… okay, so Han Solo was likely _not_ going to be high up on the list, but there’s plenty of other flyboys and flygirls who would jump at the chance of a thrilling, against-the-rules rescue. (Read: nearly every pilot ever.) It’s ungrateful to be irritated, and yet he is, anyway.

He’ll owe the man some serious favours, and Hux doesn’t know how he’d ever find enough favours he can fulfil to truly wipe their slate clean. He _hates_ owing people, absolutely hates it. 

“We’re in that ship.” Kylo points to one two-thirds of the way down the hangar. “But I can hear them bringing in the ion cannons. I’m going to need to keep them from landing a shot on you, or the ship. Do you think you can run for it?”

Hux’s legs are wobbly, but death (or the avoidance thereof) is a great motivator indeed. He nods. “I can do it.”

“Okay. Run. And if you have to leave me… leave me.”

“What?”

“I mean it: if you have to go, go. I can handle myself. You’re why I’m here. So: **run**.”

“I am not leaving without you.”

“We’re not having this conv—”

The doors _whoosh_ open, and troopers with cannons start to set up, even as blaster fire arcs through the recycled air. Kylo’s lifted hand makes them all ricochet away, but he’s still frowning down at him.

“Both of us, or neither of us,” Hux insists. “I’m not going without you.”

Which is dumb. He _is_ in a terrible state, and if Kylo dies or is captured, and Hux doesn’t escape, then his sacrifice will be for nothing. But: on the other hand, _Hux could most assuredly not live with himself if Kylo didn’t get out of here safe and sound_. It’s that simple. 

A decision made in a heartbeat, but one he’ll stand by with every remaining heartbeat he has. Hux stares angrily up at him, trying not to sway, and sets his lips in a _this is non-negotiable_ way. 

“You’re an asshole, did you know?” Kylo growls.

“It’s been mentioned a few times.”

“ _Fine_. But you’re running when I say run. Okay? Because they’re about to—”

The moment goes so slowly as to almost not move at all. One minute it’s life as normal, the next there’s heavy cannon-fire and Kylo pushes out with his hand and… how do you explain it? How could anyone explain it? All the red, arcing bolts and the plasma fired at them hits something shimmering and ethereal, and then _doubles back on itself_ , rushing towards the attackers in a concentrated inferno, like a wave dashing towards the sea. Only this one is fire and death, and Hux is on the tide’s side. It’s gloriously beautiful, immensely deadly, and terrifyingly powerful.

No wonder Snoke courted Ben Organa-Solo. No wonder indeed, if he’s capable of that.

“Run.”

Hux turns, the thin shaft of frozen light in his hand feeling alien, now. It looks nothing like what Kylo’s just wielded, but he also suspects in its master’s hands that it will be a thing of deadly beauty, too. The uneven length of it drags noisily through the air, and he finds himself on the entrance ramp to a small craft that could only have been for supply runs. 

Glancing through, he can see Poe at the controls, and no one else. Which… how did Kylo manage to convince him?

“Glad to see you in one piece,” Poe hollers cheerily.

“And… glad to see you both here to get me off in the same piece.”

“Hey, leave the thanks til we’re home dry, okay?”

“If you insist.”

Kylo bounds up into the back of the craft only a moment later, slamming his fist on the door’s closing button, and turning to shout down through the ship. “Clear!”

“Roger that. Engines hot, grab onto a strap, or belt yourselves in.”

Hux sits down rapidly, turning the saber off and trying to buckle himself into the seat. His hands don’t want to work, though, and the buckles keep missing the metal tongues and no matter how hard he focuses, he just can’t…

“May I?”

Hux looks up, surprised by the question. He nods, ashamed that he needs the help, and then Kylo has him secured to his seat and is fastening himself into the one next to him.

Poe pulls the craft through ridiculously tight twists and turns, in the hangar bay (how is he banking so hard?) and then they’re barrelling along and—did he just engage the hyperdrive the moment they cut out of the hangar? He did. Didn’t he? (Is that even safe?)

Loosed, like an arrow notched and sent flying, the sudden jerk of motion that heralds their flight. There’s the never-quite-right feel of  faster-than-light travel and the sheer unreality of this all makes his teeth itch. A rescue. A rescue like – like he’s – hah. Like he’s the Princess of Alderaan, and Poe’s his unfortunate brother, or would Kylo be him because he’s got the Force, and—

A hand grabs his shirt, and he’s suddenly nose-to-nose with said Force-sensitive. His own hands tighten around the now-unlit saber, and he blinks rapidly at the face that’s almost too close to get to resolve sharply.

“I thought I lost you.”

“…well, I did kind of run away,” Hux admits, and wonders if it will be too obvious if he crosses his legs just now, because Kylo really shouldn’t save a man and then grab him like that if he doesn’t want—

“Now is when you tell me not to kiss you,” Kylo suggests.

Wait. Wait. _Wait._ One: he wants to kiss him? And two: he has the manners enough to ask?

“Why… would I tell you not to?” Hux doesn’t know how he manages to get that out without bursting into pain-and-sleep-deprivation hysteria, but he does. Maker help him, but he does.

Kylo pulls him harder in, and Hux closes his eyes and tilts his head and tries not to poke his nose anywhere it shouldn’t go. He’s not been exactly the Resistance speederbike, but he has had kisses, and he keeps his lips almost-shut at first, feeling the soft, trembling pressure against his mouth. He still holds the hilt tightly in his lap as Kylo’s other hand moves to curl around the back of his head, gently stroking at the nape of his neck. 

It’s shy, awkward, and the best kiss he remembers having. He parts his lips just slightly, feeling Kylo follow suit and then a drag of lip across his teeth… before he pulls back and gazes, black-eyed, at the other man.

“Don’t you _dare_ run off on me like that again,” Kylo insists, though there’s only fear and no anger in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Hux says, and wonders if he’s ever really said it and meant it like he means it right now. Possibly not. He’s never really wronged someone (other than the late, not-so-great Brendol Hux) before.

“I was so worried when your team didn’t call in. I…”

“Not to interrupt,” Poe’s voice interrupts, “…but you should know that Kylo kind of masterminded your whole rescue. All of it.”

“You did?”

The Knight blushes, and _fuck_ but isn’t it the most adorable thing ever. He still has hold of his shirt, though he lets go and smoothes it with his fingertips. The other hand goes to move from his neck, but Hux reaches up and presses it back into place. It’s warm, and reassuring, and he doesn’t want it to leave. 

“Sort of,” Kylo agrees. “I… tracked down somewhere the Order were going to send a ship, and I… possibly took both of the troopers prisoner, interrogated them, made them fly the ship to the new base, handed them over and begged Poe to fly this onto the _Finalizer_ to get you out.”

“See,” Poe crows, and – Maker – he even has to give credit to other people!

Hux hates him so irrationally that he thinks, perhaps, he’s insane. Poe gives him no reason to despise him this deeply. Then again, the pilot just can’t _naturally_ be this nice, even though right now he is literally saving Hux’s life, and giving Kylo all the credit, when Kylo might well not have mentioned his very involved and cunning plan whatsoever.

“So you’re both in big trouble for breaking me out?” he asks.

“Pretttty sure the General will let this one slide,” comes the voice from the cockpit. “But you two lovebirds pretend like I’m not here, now. Okay?”

Right. Because he can clearly make out with Kylo, knowing Poe can hear it. Nope. Not gonna happen. Hux flushes, and then grabs hold of Kylo’s saber. He holds it out to him, fidgeting in his seat: “Uhm. Thanks for lending me this.”

“Shit.”

“What?” Fear floods through him before he can help it, making his heart pound at double-speed, his mouth dry, his eyes flicker around the compartment

“I didn’t even ask you if you’re hurt.” Kylo looks like he thinks he’s committed an act of high treason.

Seriously? That’s what he’s worried about? “I’ve been worse. Honestly.” Much worse, though that was all physical, and this is a little more complicated than that.

Kylo takes the saber, clipping it back to his hip, and then goes to grab one of the medical scanners. “I need to check you over. Okay? And then… and… and then you can tell me – uh, I mean if you—”

“It’s okay. I know I need to be debriefed,” Hux says. “Maybe that bit can wait til we get to the base? I’m pretty sure I didn’t let anything slip. If…” 

There’s still that worry. That worry that this is an exceptionally good deception. 

“Poe,” he calls out to the cockpit, “…have you—don’t say it out loud— but have you done… the thing? You were going to?”

“The thing? The… oh! Yes: it’s started. It’s an ongoing program, though. But why don’t you want me to—?”

He sees the sadness in Kylo’s eyes, the moment he realises Hux still doesn’t trust this to be real. It’s weirdly crushing to witness, even though it’s entirely logical for him to worry. “He’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t give us up, in case we’re not real.”

“Huh?”

“He thinks there’s someone in his head.”

Talking about him like he’s not there is painful, and Hux cringes back into himself, just a little. “I’m sorry, Kylo. It’s just…”

“No, it’s okay. I understand, remember? It’ll come, in time.”

“…really?”

“No one dreams this long,” he explains, indicating himself with a tilt of the head. 

“I suppose not.”

It’s still an awkward trip the rest of the way back. Poe stays up front, giving them the smallest amount of privacy. Hux curls into himself, then feels a little touch of leg against his own. The sense-memory makes his stomach hurt, and then he puts his head on Kylo’s shoulder for the rest of the journey.

At some point, a hand slips into his, and their fingers lace tightly together. It feels better than it ever should do, and Hux hopes to high heaven that this is real. If he loses this – now – there won’t be anything left of him to save. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> By [Doodlingthingies](http://doodlingthingies.tumblr.com/tagged/Com)


	18. Chapter 18

“Okay. Ground crew knows we’re coming in. We’re gonna hang here, a few systems over, so a unit can come rendezvous with us. We’ll get swept for tracking devices before they give us clearance. I have it on good authority that there’s no security team been called on you,” Poe says, leaning on the door-frame as the ship hangs dead in space.

“They’d say that, though,” Kylo replies.

“Not necessarily.” 

Hux doesn’t think Leia will be annoyed with Kylo, all the same. The mission seems to have been a complete success: no one died, he was retrieved, they have a new ship, and also some prisoners of war. Who likely won’t provide any more useful intel, but maybe they could be worked on to see if they’re dyed-in-the-wool, or malleable enough to ‘save’. 

If Kylo’s already worked them hard, then it’s possibly something Hux owes them: the chance to be free, too. 

When he’s in any state to do it, that is. Right now he feels like the adrenaline is fading fast, and he just wants to sleep for a week. Keeping his head up now Poe is in the compartment with them is painful and involved, but he definitely doesn’t want to let Poe see either their closeness, or his weakness.

He isn’t even sure what the closeness _means_. The kiss was born of relief and fear, but he _does_ still have Kylo’s hand in his, and the reassuring pressure against his left flank. That’s enough for now, and even if this isn’t real and he’s going to die back on the _Finalizer_ , at least he’ll die having felt… this.

The scans come and go. The ship follows the others. It lands, and Kylo wordlessly helps him to stand. A hand on the small of his back until he nods that he’s fine, and then they walk out of the ship together.

Right into the biggest crowd of people he remembers seeing when landing. Oh. Well. He supposes Poe’s friends are here, and Kylo’s definitely important, but then Leia and Ematt walk straight up to _him_. 

“Are you okay?” Leia asks, and she actually does look concerned. She hasn’t even looked at her son yet, and that’s weird.

“I’m so sorry,” Ematt adds, before he’s even had a chance to reply. “I should never have sent your team there without more intel.”

“I’m… okay, I guess.”

“We’ve got the medical bay on alert to receive you.” Leia looks like she wants to hug him. Right? That’s what that weird, half-shuffle is. She’s dignified, professional, and… she wants to hug him.

Hux doesn’t want her to hug him, but he _does_ like that she wants to. Probably it’s because he helped get Kylo back for her, and he looks around at the sea of faces. It’s nice to imagine at least part of the concern there is for him. 

“Give him some space, people,” Ematt says, turning. 

“I’ll come check on you,” Leia says. “Once you’ve had time to recover.” She moves, then, and takes his hand.

The gesture surprises him, but he tries not to flush too hard as she pats his left palm between both of hers. 

“It’s thanks to Kylo. And Poe.” He has to remember Poe was there, too.

“Oh, believe me, everyone’s aware of that.”

Why does that sound so ominous?

***

Once they clear him of anything serious, Hux is told he has to spend the night in the med bay. He’s so tired he doesn’t even question it, just rolling over and pulling the blanket up around him to sleep through.

And through. And through. He wakes a few times – staggering to the small ‘fresher unit to answer the call of nature, then refresh his mouth – and collapses some more. He’s dimly aware that Kylo is nearby, but not in the room with him.

He’s not wholly sure how he knows Kylo’s there, but he is, and he knows. He feels reassured, instead of anything else. It isn’t creepy, or obsessive, it’s just… calming. _Safe_.

Eventually he’s slept enough, and he knows when he gets up this time that it’s for good. There’s a small wardrobe with his clothes in, and he showers and dresses. Only a few minutes after he’s finished, Kylo comes in with a tray of food.

“You know, isn’t that long since we lived with just a window between us. I’m surprised you kept outside,” Hux says.

“I didn’t want to intrude when you couldn’t say no,” Kylo replies. “…which is not a dig at you, I promise.”

“Did no one else really make it? From the team?” It’s a non-sequitur, but it’s been bugging him. All this time, whenever he woke. A snatch of a report on them, a name, a face. Gone. No more. He’d barely known them and they are all lost to the galaxy.

The Knight nods, and the tumbler full of fruit juice slides closer on the tray. Force-powers. Kylo doesn’t often show off with them, so it feels like he’s trying to distract him from the question. Hux consents to drink it, then grabs for the cereal bowl and sits on the chair by the bed. He’s had more than enough of lying down, and the bed in general.

Kylo sits on the mattress, close, but not too close.

“Hux… we… you…”

“Kylo, please, whatever it is: tell me?”

“You were gone some time. And… you… there was a Knight involved.”

“I am aware what happened to me, yes.”

“So you know what comes next?”

In all honesty, he does, and he’s been avoiding thinking about it for some time, now. His mind skitters away every time it tries to engage with the topic, but: “You need to know if I’ve been turned. If I’m a sleeper agent. If I’ve given you—” ‘You’. As if it hadn’t been the other way, weeks before. “Given you up.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“So. Am I going to the bloc, or…?”

“There’s… there’s another option. But. You don’t have to agree to it. It could potentially be less disruptive. Less time. Less… intrusion by people you’re not comfortable with.” Kylo does him the decency of looking him square on. “I can check, but only with your consent.”

Everything kind of stops, and goes cold, all at once. He remembers the feel of the Knight being inside his head, and remembers the violation of it. How he’d been ripped open, no matter how hard he tried. How he’d been forced to divulge things no one should ever be forced to divulge. How he’d literally been cracked open at the skull and had his whole memory and sense of self dredged up by cruel, painful mental fingers.

And Kylo… he _likes_ Kylo. He – Maker help him – really does have a crush on him. But this would be an intrusion on a scale that Hux has never experienced, and he’s not sure he’s ready. Not for Kylo, not for anyone.

A faceless, nameless, masked someone is bad enough. Someone he actually has rudimentary feelings for, and might even harbour romantic intentions towards? What if Kylo sees things he doesn’t like? What if—what if any number of things? How will he look him in the eyes after?

“You don’t have to make your mind up, yet. You can stay here until you decide. I’ve agreed I’ll act as… well. Keep an eye on you.”

Act as jailer. As security. Oh, the irony of it. It does, however, mean that people trust Kylo enough, now. He looks at the bed, and suddenly he doesn’t have the stomach for his cereal any more. It’s a nicer cell than the one Kylo first had, and he’s being given a choice in the matter.

“What would… how… would you know where to look?”

Kylo tucks his hair behind his ear. “You’ve seen one of my Knights. It’s a similar principle, but less… violent. I could even wipe your memories of it, if you needed me to.”

“ **No**.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

“And… I’m grateful for you for offering, but I need to know what’s real. What’s… happened to me. There’s enough I’ve forgotten, and it’s never good.” He’s certain about that. He needs to be himself, he can’t just hide things under the carpet.

“Okay.” The Knight’s tongue licks out over his lips. “And about before… on the ship?”

“Yeah?” Oh, fuck. Hux isn’t ready for this conversation, and he knows his worry floods into his tone. 

“I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. I just… was so glad you were okay, and I thought… I mean, we – uh…”

Fuck. Kylo’s about as useless as he is, isn’t he? Hux puts the bowl down on the table, and holds his hand out. He waits for Kylo to take it, and then slips their fingers and then palms together. “I’m sorry I panicked and ran off. I… I was sure you were going to, so I wanted to do it first. And I wanted you to – I sold it to myself as you needing to know you were okay without me…”

“Well, I wasn’t. I was a mess.”

Hux snorts, and lets his lashes brush his cheeks. “I got myself captured by a Knight of Ren. Can’t say I did much better.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to… you know. Just because I saved you. I’d have done that anyway, and if… if what you want… _Fuck_. Look. If all I can have is you as my friend, I’ll have a better friend than I ever had in my life. So. Please. Be my friend. And if you want anything else, I’m…”

“I think so. Well. The friend bit, definitely.” If they can do that, without feeling regret over it not working out on a deeper level. Hux _does_ want to keep Kylo in his life. That much he’s sure about. “I just need some time to work out what everything _else_ means. It’s… you know this is because of the cells, right?”

“No. **Sorry**. You didn’t _need_ to move in with me.  Maybe the situation gave us the chance to get to know one another, forced us together, sped things up… but I think… I think we’re more compatible than just… two strangers. And if you want to go slow? I’m over thirty, and you’re the first person I’ve kissed. I _think_ I’m fine with taking this at whatever pace you want, or need.”

Hux can’t argue with that. It’s perfectly reasonable, and perfectly gentlemanly, and more than he deserves after his pathetic stunt. He rises, and leans over to place a gentle kiss to Kylo’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you anything to help you feel more at home, until you decide?”

“I think I’ve seen enough of sterile walls for the year. I’ll consent to it. Just… promise me you won’t think less of me?”

Kylo turns Hux’s hand over, and two fingers touch the pulsepoint of his wrist. “You know the things I’ve done, and things I’ve… seen. Nothing in your head could ever drive me away. I’m more likely to swear bloody vengeance on your behalf.”

“So you’re staying ‘good’, then?” Hux teases, as his mouth curls into a smile. 

“I’m staying on the side of democracy, yes. The Jedi thing I’m not sold on. But the not-being-the-First-Order? Yeah. Consider me a convert.”

Hux pulls his hand back, and Kylo lets him. 

“When will we do this?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Is there a way I can stop, while we’re in the process?”

“If you _need_ me to stop, think… think…”

Hux bites his lip. “How about your old name?”

Kylo goes a little pale, but he nods. “Yes. That works. Call me that, and we’ll stop. No matter what.”

“Then… I’m ready. Let’s do this.” Before he chickens out. He wants to know for himself, too. Wants to know he’s not been booby-trapped. That what he thinks of as his own thoughts truly _are_ his. 

Even if it means Kylo gets to see the worst ever parts of him. Even then. It’ll be worth it, if they really _do_ come through this together. It’ll mean Kylo knows the worst of him, and still – for whatever reason – wants to try.

“You might want to lie down, first.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: childhood trauma

This has to be against some regs, or something. Do they have regs about Force mind-reading? Or about fraternising with ex-enemy interrogatees? Or about ex-interrogatees being the ones to interrogate their previous captor? Probably not, because the less rules written about their line of work, the more people can deny knowledge of the actions involved. 

Still. It’s probably considered poor ethics, or something. Bad taste. Hux has never developed feelings for one of his marks before, and he’s certainly never been captured and interrogated by the former pupil of one of his marks, either. 

He sits on the bed, flicking the button to lift up the back so he doesn’t feel quite as vulnerable. It comes almost all the way up, so he only has to recline slightly. Even that has flashes of other memories (the chair, the belts, the leather and metal around his head) making him nauseous, and he has to fight for the wave to pass. He folds his hands over his belly, clasping them together, and bites on the inside of his mouth to keep himself from shaking too hard.

“Hux, this will be easier if you relax.”

“Oh? Because you have a lot of experience with this?”

“Actually, yes: both giving, and receiving.”

Oh, fuck. Snoke. He’s assuming that’s who did this to him, though the objects of his endeavours are likely so numerous as to defy listing. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s… I don’t really want to do it, but if it means we know if you’re… okay. If you get signed back off and free?”

They have to keep that end goal in mind. Okay. Hux takes several slow, measured breaths. Holds them in until his chest aches a little, then lets them go. He looks up at the Knight one last time. “You’re sure you’re not going to—?”

“ _Relax_ ,” the voice tells him, and Hux does.

It’s strange. One minute he’s highly-strung and feeling his pulse in his teeth almost, the next there’s a distance to everything. His mind pushed away from the emotion, but he knows that’s not normal, and he fights against the separation instinctually, desperate to keep control.

“Hux… stop resisting me.”

“I – I _can’t_.” He can’t. He can’t just let go of himself. Even if it’s his own conscious decision, his mind rejects the concept as foreign and dangerous, and he feels his nails turn into his palms, ravaging his hands as he bleeds some of the tension through his shoulders.

It isn’t even that he doesn’t trust Kylo, it’s that he _has to be in control has to be in control has to be—_

***

Commandant Brendol Hux. A man broad of shoulder and narrow of mind. He’s very, very tall and the young boy looks up to him, physically and emotionally. His short legs struggle to keep up as he’s led from the ship towards the Academy. 

Today is the day he gets to finally prove he’s worth something. Today he will show his father that he can—

***

Hux screams, sitting upright, clawing at the arm across his chest. That – that wasn’t – he didn’t remember that and – now it’s there and he—

“Hux… Hux. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“That wasn’t real,” he says, even though he knows it was. “I don’t… I mean, I know I had to start sometime, but—”

“We can try again later.”

“No. No. Kylo… if we’re doing this, I need it to happen, not hang over me, ready to drop at any time.” 

Fuck. That memory didn’t even start badly, but he can feel shadows around the edges of it, can feel the way something bad came right after. Like when you wake from a dream, and little parts of the day half-remember it to you, but not enough to make sense of the feeling.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t think there’s a way _not_ to.” Maybe in a normal person. Maybe in someone with little to hide, or be ashamed or afraid of. But not in someone like him – like _either_ of them.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Just… just do it. I’m not going to be able to relax, so I need you to push me through the pain barrier.” 

It’s the only way. But he knows Kylo won’t hurt him for the sake of hurting him, and if it’s the only way for both of them to know for sure that he – and everyone here – is safe?

“Who was it? Who was it that took you?”

“I didn’t get a name.”

“Think about what they looked like, what they sounded like.”

***

Hux’s eyes turn through the room, but it’s another room, now. He’s strapped to the chair, and he can see Kylo next to him. That makes his heart all but explode in distress, but Kylo finds his hand and holds it, and he remembers this isn’t real.

It feels it. It feels painful in his skull, and the memory of the interrogation hasn’t started yet. 

The doors open, and he jams his eyes shut and looks away from the Knight who walks in, but Kylo can apparently see through his memories, all the same.

“Ah. Of course: Ithon.”

“That’s his name?”

“Yes. He was always… keen.”

Keen. One word for it.

Kylo grips his hand tighter. “Show me. I’ll keep the pain as low as I can. Show me what he said, and what he saw.”

Hux doesn’t want to, but then Ithon’s mind dips into his – and the layered penetration is breaking his sense of reality all over – and the images spring up even quicker.

Weirdly, it does hurt less, and he turns and looks at Kylo instead of the sense-memory of the other, masked man. Stares at Kylo’s face in an attempt not to fall into the black hole of memory and false memory.

Snatches of scenes on the base. Pilots, but his eyes deliberately sliding away whenever he can. Thinking other things loudly so as not to draw attention to the thing he’s keeping to himself, in his core. 

The thing. The thing he’s still only fifty percent sure isn’t what this little escapade is about. How easy would it be for Ithon to make him think he was rescued, only to have ‘Kylo’ invade his mind, to reassure him, and to crack the secrets from his skull in the process.

He drags his attention forcibly away from that, and back to what he thinks is remembered truths, through garbled conversations and agonised recall. Kylo does make good on his promise to numb some of the pain, and it’s more like a thudding ache than a furious agony. 

“Is that all? Is that all he wanted to see?”

Hux pleads with him not to push for the final thing. It’s worse, even, than the knowledge that the Knight has seen splintered shards of his childhood. It’s worse, even, than him knowing how he’s literally terrified of giving up any control. It’s…

“You.”

“Huh?”

“He wanted to see you. Through my eyes. He… wanted to know what had happened. And he told me you had turned. You’d gone back to Snoke.”

“Why?”

The question is enough to reframe the situation again, and now they’re standing. A dream inside a dream inside a dream. His red string back to reality frays even more, and he’s not sure he’ll ever feel awake again, at this rate.

They’re standing, but they’re standing against a transparisteel wall that was never there. Before them are two identical rooms, split down the middle with a clear divide. In reality, the space they’re standing should be opaque, but this is the unreal physics of the mind.

Hux watches as the two of them interact, and he can’t help but feel the echoes of his emotional status at the time, combined with the feeling of being forced to relive this for Ithon, and then again for Kylo himself. Layer after layer of flimsi, and Hux hopes he won’t force him to go through it all.

“He… wanted to know if you could be used as leverage against me, and how you’d turned me,” Kylo muses aloud. “And he… wanted to know if I would be leverage against you.”

Well. Yes. But not in the way Kylo thinks, Hux is sure. “There’s nothing new to see, here. Aren’t you satisfied yet with my—”

The image fades, and Hux feels his mind plucked further along. Everything changes, and then he’s no longer standing, or sitting, but lying.

Warm, soft couch. Warm, soft Kylo. 

He had to go and do that, didn’t he? Had to push them into the thing he regrets most?  The day he’d run from Kylo’s new home and right into the jaws of danger.

The buffering and shielding works less well, now, and Hux keeps wavering in and out of awareness that this isn’t real. The terrible, aching hope and the soul-crushing fear. The desire to bury his face in him and breathe for hours. The unswayable certainty that it would be over. That Kylo would move on. That Hux would be left pining. The terror of being known, and being known to be inadequate. Of being opened up to see he’s nothing inside but stale air. The longing of an unrequited crush, and the weight of being too… too…

“You’re not,” Kylo whispers, and in this memory his arms tighten in a way that they never did in reality, or in the remembered space inside his head. “You _really_ think you’re not good enough?”

“I proved it, when I ran away.”

“You’re enough. You’re _more_ than enough, Hux.”

Try telling his mind that, because it’s certain he’s not. Too weak. Too stupid. Too difficult to train. Too distant from people. Too vicious and sadistic, under the thin veneer of respectability. Too…

Kylo pulls him in, and Hux kicks and shoves and fights, but Kylo’s arms are stronger and they squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

“I’m _not_ ,” Hux snaps. “I’m **broken**. I’m _nothing_. You’re everything, and I’m—”

“The only one who could save me,” Kylo whispers, into his neck. “The only one who really knew _how_.”

Because Kylo is broken, too. Kylo’s been through it. He’s had his childhood ripped open, and been expected to fit into the big boots placed in front of him. Wadding up at the toe and heel to keep from sliding, faking the places he should fill out. Aping what Success looks like, taking constant course-corrections from everyone around him. Not knowing what the appropriate response should be, and second-guessing everything.

 _Faking it_. Faking everything, and keeping people from coming close enough to smell the paint he slaps over the cracks, or hear the way he’s repeating back what’s been told to him. Kylo knows, because Kylo’s been there, too.

Hux shoves himself into Kylo’s arms and _screams_. He screams, and kicks, and flails, and he knows that the Knight will take it. He knows he can lash out the anger and hurt and betrayal in his core, knows he can howl in wordless, primal **rage**.

He was a _child_. They were _children_. They were supposed to be **safe. Loved.** It wasn’t fair, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be normal, and he’s not sure he’ll ever feel like he is, either. Years and years of broken thoughts crash out in a mess, and the worst thing?

The really worst thing? The thing he knows is the very thing he’s been keeping from Kylo, keeping from himself?

“ _I just wanted him to be proud of me_ ,” he whispers, his voice raw from the sobs. “ _And if he was still alive, if he came in here, right now—”_

“You’d want his approval,” Kylo finishes, his hands moving from grasping to soothing, taking the shifting moods without any surprise. “You’d still be looking to him, hoping he would be proud of you at last. And you’re worried… you’re worried if he asked you to go back…”

Would he. Would he? Hux doesn’t know for sure. He likes to think he wouldn’t. He likes to think that his need for approval and praise isn’t as strong as his (admittedly weak) moral code. But the point is moot. Brendol Hux is dead. He died, not knowing what happened to his son… and likely not caring.

No matter what he accomplishes, no matter how high he could climb? Brendol won’t ever even be able to approve. The ship has sailed. Into a star.

Kylo nudges a nose to his ear. “You don’t need him. I know… I know you felt like you did, but you left. You were strong, Hux. You left. You left for _you_.”

“Then why does it still hurt?”

“Because people – and feelings – are more complicated than on-off switches. And because he broke things in you, to make you need him. But you were strong, even through it.” 

“Don’t you… don’t you worry you’ll go back, too?”

Because Hux is worried about that. Obviously, even before Ithon lied about it. Who wouldn’t worry?

“Every damn day,” Kylo admits. “He wore at me for years. He ripped through my days, tore through my nights. I had no peace, no safety… of course I’m afraid. If he makes it hurt enough, how will I be able to refuse?”

How indeed. Hux feels suddenly selfish, and he grabs hold of Kylo. Needing him to feel reassured, too. “You can fight him. You can.”

“I’m trying, but… you have to promise me you’ll fight, too.”

“I don’t really m—”

Lips press against his, pushing the word back in. Just lips, no tongue, no teeth. Hux laughs against his face, flushing with the sudden shock of it. 

“I left because I was afraid you’d see the real me and run,” he says, when Kylo lets him speak again. “You… matter to me. Your opinion matters to me. If you didn’t think I was worth your attention…”

“I’ve seen it, now. Although… I think I already knew, before you let me see. And believe me, there’s nothing there that makes me want to run away. It makes me wish I’d been there to help.” Kylo sounds mournful, and a heavy sigh shifts his chest. “I feel… the same way. About you.”

“So. We’re… both a mess.”

“And who else would have us?”

Hux snorts. That’s one way to think of it. “Plenty would have you.”

“More would have you, if you let them.” 

He doubts it, though he doesn’t doubt Kylo, for some reason, _believes it_. That’s the strangest part: Kylo really does seem to like him, too. 

“I can’t believe you told Ithon you had a crush on me before you told me.”

Hux jumps, and nearly bangs his head into Kylo’s jaw. That’s when he realises he’s not on the couch in Kylo’s home any more, he’s drifted back into the here-and-now. Kylo climbed onto his hospital bed, and is cuddled against his side. The gentle teasing tone is a surreal side-step away from all of the emotional truth and weight.

“The man literally tortured the information out of me, Kylo.”

“Still. Pretty sure I get at least a box of chocolates out of it.”

“I’m the one who gets tortured, and you get chocolates?” And this is even a topic of conversation?

“I’ll share.”

Hux decides two can play at the emotional blackmail game, and he wriggles closer to him. “Get me out of this med bay, and I’ll get you all the chocolates you want.”

“Bribery, too, now?”

He looks superciliously down his nose at the man, trying to keep his face deadly serious. “Do you, or do you not, want… chocolates?”

Kylo kisses his temple. “If you’re okay with me going to file a brief report.”

“…maybe a few minutes more, first?” He doesn’t actually want to be alone just now. Not after all that.

It’s weird, but now it’s over, he feels like a weight’s been lifted from his chest, and some of the fear is gone. But he still wants Kylo, and he isn’t ashamed to admit it. He’s warm, secure, and… are they kind of an item, now? Because Kylo knows he has a crush on him, and it seems he returns the favour, and they’re still snuggling, and…

“You… still okay taking things slow?” Hux asks.

“As long as I get to do this some more, yes,” Kylo replies.

“This… is definitely acceptable.” More than acceptable. He sighs, and feels Kylo’s pulse against his shoulder. Slow, steady, firm. Even the hug is nice. He could get behind physical contact.

A little.

With Kylo. 


	20. Chapter 20

They’re back at Hux’s place, for his comfort, ostensibly. Also likely because Kylo seems to be infinitely curious, and he’s sure the man is looking into every. Single. Box. Every cupboard and drawer. It’s not even as if he lack all social niceties, but apparently once you’ve been in someone’s psyche, it’s fair game to look in their medicine cabinet and compliment the arrangement of their spice collection and look at their mugs.

General Organa is due to call on them. ‘Them’. Kylo is still his neighbour, not actually his flat-sharing person, but he’s not sure how long that will remain the case. Oddly, he’s excited about the prospect, if a little intimidated.

Hux sits in his usual armchair, pushed there and told to ‘rest’, and waits for Kylo to come through with the caf.

He does, in two mugs. The one in his right hand is the one Hux got for him (so he’s moving his mug into the home, interesting), and the other one? Hux has never seen it before.

There’s a ridiculous, fluffy thing on it. It’s pink. It doesn’t look anatomically plausible, and nothing like any species he’s ever seen. There’s a Basic statement in a curve over the top of its head, declaring it to be a ‘Hug in a Mug’. 

This mug is pushed at him, hug included, and his brows arch.

“It was the only thing I could get you at short notice,” Kylo explains, awkwardly. “I wanted to return the favour.”

It is the most meaningful gift he can remember receiving, even if the fluffy creature is almost monstrous. He loves it. “How did you even get it?”

“It involved quite a bit of promises and favours.”

“Poe?”

“Actually, he just pointed me in the right direction.” Kylo sits on the couch, tugging one leg underneath himself. “He’s surprisingly connected.”

“I need to thank him for… you know. Helping you rescue me.”

“I hear he also likes brandy,” Kylo suggests. “I’m getting him a bottle. Want me to put your name on the gift tag?”

“…I think I’m probably supposed to buy my own ‘thanks for saving me’ presents, but thanks for the offer.” He takes a sip of the caf, and then huddles tighter around the mug. Even if his fingers hum a little at the heat, it’s the principle of the matter. 

“…why…?”

Ah. “Look, I think we’re past the awkward, not-honest but not-lying stages, so. Whatever it is, ask?”

“Poe.”

 _Ah_. “You want to know why I’m not especially… positive about him?” Hux surmises, head to one side to survey the other man better. “Even though I have absolutely no reason whatsoever to dislike him?”

“Something like that.”

How do you explain an irrational dislike in terms other than: ‘Because I said so!’? Because that’s how Hux feels like answering said question. There’s no logical, sensible, real reason. “He’s too nice. And if it’s sincere – which I think it is – then he makes me feel guilty. And also wonder what’s wrong with me, if he can be like that, and I can’t.”

“He… had a different life to you, you do realise?”

“I know. But. There’s just something too-nice about him. And I _don’t_ mean that in an ‘I doubt it’s all true’, way, I mean it in a ‘You’re throwing off the bell-curve’ way. People who have flaws you can understand, and work with. People who don’t…”

“You’re looking for an in, aren’t you?”

Hux considers that for a moment. Is he? It would make sense, if so. Looking for that crack, that weakness, the fault line ready for pressure to be applied. He’s trained to see it, like a predator circling the herd, eyeing up the weakest members, the ones with the limps or blind-spots. An unconscious need to have that knowledge to hand. 

“I guess I am. And… alright, a part of it is envy, too.”

“I know what you mean. Pilots… they have a cachet. Not to mention the whole ability to fly wherever they want, whenever they want…” 

The Knight tucks his second leg under him, and Hux finds himself temporarily too distracted to continue the line of thought, then has to blink his eyes back up to the other’s face. 

“I can fly,” he tells the man. “Not fighter-pilot level, but… you want to get away sometime?”

The way Kylo’s face lights up for a moment before he remembers to be restrained is freaking adorable. Seriously. How did anyone think that man was a monster? He’s just an overgrown kid most of the time, full of wonder and small happinesses. And ridiculously dorky mug-choices. 

“Yeah,” Kylo says, trying to sound nonchalant, and utterly failing.

Fortunately for their continued good relations, the door alerts them to their visitor. Hux watches the tall man defy physics, launching up from the couch, mug going to the coffee table as he answers the door in record time.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hello, Kylo. Is Hux up to visitors?”

“I’m fine,” he calls out. “I’m not actually an invalid, Kylo just likes to act like a mother-hen.”

“He always was a caring boy,” Leia says, and Hux manages to catch a glimpse of hand-to-face touching. 

It’s a little private, so he turns his head and pretends not to have noticed, trying to stand to greet her with respect, and oomphing back into his seat when Kylo shoves at him. “Thank you for visiting.”

“It was the least I could do,” she says. “Especially as I can’t take any of the credit for your rescue. We were exploring our options when Kylo decided to take matters into his own hands.”

“I wasn’t going to let him suffer any longer than necessary,” Kylo replies, and then stares. “Caf?”

“Please.”

“Same as… before?”

“Yes, please.”

The General’s son leaves them for a moment, though Hux doesn’t know if his hearing is good enough to pick up on their conversation from the kitchen area or not. Not that he’s going to say anything Kylo can’t hear.

So, he opens with: “Still, I know you made sure he didn’t get into trouble for it. And I know you agreed to let him – uh – question me.” Both things he’s very grateful for. Very.

“Oh, if we punished everyone for running off to save people, we wouldn’t have a Resistance _left_. It’s only if it goes wrong that we complain that they should have asked for more help. His father got me out of plenty of scrapes, and I got him out of more.”

“Speaking of General Solo… is he…?”

“He’s off-base again. He’s on a sensitive mission.”

“Did he—?”

Kylo comes back in, then, with a more generic mug for his mother. “He spoke to me, if that’s what you want to know. And it wasn’t great, but… we’re talking.”

“Your father has never been good at talking about his feelings,” Leia reminds her son.

“Don’t I know it.”

Hux has only seen flickers of Han through Kylo’s eyes, but he suspects it’s more than a little understatement. At least Han is willing to rebuild bridges, and is still around for Kylo to try. 

“But we’re here to see how your…” Leia falters, waiting for the word to be supplied.

“Hux,” Kylo gives her.

“…Hux is doing.”

“I am doing much better,” he replies, secretly amused by his designation as Hux over and above any relationship status. “I was dehydrated and poorly fed, but the medics say the first is fixed, and the second will be fine after a week of balanced meals. The sleep deprivation has already worn off, and they fortunately didn’t medicate me.” And by medicate, he means ‘drug’.

“He didn’t tell them anything,” Kylo adds. “I saw. Ithon was brutal, but somehow he kept away from something he didn’t want to let out.”

Which paranoia keeps him from mentioning yet again. “I had a dream with you in it. You told me to think loudly about other things, to drown it out with emotion and memory, and direct his attentions away from what I didn’t want him to see.”

“It worked?”

“…yes, evidently.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to hear me, especially when I didn’t know where you were.”

Oh. “So… that part was real?” 

“I tried to send a short message to you,” Kylo says, his eyes bright with success. “By meditating. I reached out to offer support. I wasn’t sure if it would get to you or not.”

“Well, it did, and it likely saved me a lot of heartache.” Other than emotionally charged, personal events getting dragged to the fore as a result. That hadn’t been fun. Hux still thinks it was the best of a bad lot, however, and would do it again if he had to.

“Your old job is yours, if you want it,” Leia says, when the conversation lulls into reflection for a little too long. “You don’t have to go back into the field.”

But. There’s a but. He can hear it, hanging in the air, waiting. “You do have something else to offer, don’t you?”

Leia looks over to her son, then back to Hux. “I was thinking of creating a small force. Back in the days of the Rebellion, we had units who were more flexible, and diverse. There’s no pressure on either of you…”

“But you’d like us to volunteer,” Hux concludes.

“I would like to bring my brother back. If we have any chance of defeating the First Order, it has to include Luke.” There’s pain in her eyes when she says it, the pain of long separation. 

Hux never had a sibling, so he doesn’t really know how it would feel to be split off from them. He does know they didn’t grow up together, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t become very close when they did meet up.

“Is it wise for people with – connections – to serve together?” he asks, as lightly as he can keep his voice.

“Never stopped me and Han.”

“You and Dad _are_ sort of separated, Mom.” Kylo arches one brow. “And I don’t think I take the whole blame for that.”

“Alright, perhaps we’re not the best couple, but we still love one another, and we got out of every situation intact. In the end.” She shrugs. “There’s other couples who live and work together. You’ll even find people bond with those they fight alongside. The pressure of the situation, and the shared experiences, can forge relationships which are very strong.”

He wonders how much she knows, but then Kylo _did_ charge off to save him, and has now moved in to look after him, even though he’s really not that sick. He suspects she may even have known before they did. She’s an intelligent woman, after all… and she has the Force, even if she doesn’t act as a Jedi. 

“We’ll need to think about it,” Kylo says. “And know who else you’re thinking of, for the team.”

“Obviously,” she replies. “I’ll leave you two boys to relax. But I want you to both know how proud I am of you. You’re both incredibly brave, for what you’ve done, and endured. And if you need it… I can make sure there’s someone for you both to talk to. Individually, or together.”

Ah. A psych. He did wonder how long before he got offered one. “Thank you. I’ll think about that, too.” He already has: his opinion is ‘no’. The fewer people who know about the inside of his head, the better. He already feels like he’s been opened way too wide, and now he just needs some time to close things back together again. To stitch over the gaps, and let his mind heal. 

“Before I forget,” she says, as she gets up to go. “If you’d like to come by for dinner one night?”

Dinner. With General Leia Organa. That’s…

“Mom…” Kylo wheedles.

“Oh, hush. You’re still my son, and if I want to invite you and your – _Hux_ – for dinner, I can.” Leia walks over to kiss Kylo on his cheek.

It sends him a wonderful shade of crimson, but before Hux can gloat, she’s looming close and there’s a moment when he panics that she wants to kiss him, too.

Thankfully, she doesn’t. A hand squeezes his upper arm, and then she leaves.

When she’s gone, Kylo turns, sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

“Kylo, you don’t have to apologise for her.”

“Yeah. Well.” He rolls his shoulders, and looks down at his feet. “You want to maybe watch some holos? Didn’t think you’d want anything energetic for a while.”

“I’d love to.” He would, actually. He really is quite worn thin. He eyes the couch, wondering how he can move over without looking too obvious. He kind of wants to sit beside him, but not if it means having to admit he does.

Which is stupid, but that’s who he is.

“I could make us some snacks,” Kylo suggests. “We could share them.”

Sneaky. Hux approves, and he grins. “Sounds like the perfect night in.” Much more fun than a formal dinner with the decorated war General and former princess. Much. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork at the end is NSFW.

Kylo is smart. Hux has to give him that: he seems to know precisely when Hux is open to physical contact, and when he’s averse. This is helpful, because Hux himself wasn’t aware that it came and went in cycles, mostly because he hadn’t had reason to find out he didn’t much like it. Usually.

He moves over to the couch, facing the screen, and eyes the snacks Kylo’s prepared. They’re pretty mundane, but he did empty his kitchen before he went away. Really, it’s just an excuse to sit next to him, and to push against his side.

Kylo’s arm moves behind his neck, tugging him in, and Hux feels little false-start engine-bursts in his core. He puts a hand on Kylo’s knee, and… okay. So it’s a little weird, now the power-balance has shifted so drastically. It’s not like he’s disenfranchised, it’s more that Kylo’s risen up to his level, and Hux no longer feels like he’s in control. Part of him resents that. He liked having Kylo depend on him, liked being so important to him, and that’s probably not… entirely healthy?

Especially now Kylo has the Force. Now he’s unleashed, and unchecked, he’s got all the cards in this relationship, and Hux isn’t wholly behind that. 

“I need to ask you something,” Hux says, looking straight ahead. 

“Alright. But you know phrasing it like that is not good for my nerves?”

“Ah, yes. Well, it’s not… anything to worry about. I want to know… do you go into my head?”

“Only when you agreed to it, before.”

“Only?”

“…it’s hard to turn off… everything. I can… I can normally tell someone’s basic mood. Maybe not what they’re actually thinking, unless they’re repeating a passcode with deep intent. Then I get strings of letters and numbers. But other than that, I don’t… go where I’m not wanted.”

“Not even if you’re—” The things he wants to ask, he realises, might not actually have happened. “Have you done it when you were upset with someone?”

“…yes. When I was young, and when I was with the Order.”

He is, if nothing else, honest. 

“Will you do that with me?”

“Not unless I actually thought you might be in danger of hurting yourself or others. Or if I thought you might be acting under someone else’s control… is… is that okay?”

Hux would much prefer him to say ‘no, not ever’, but he supposes the examples given would be sensible. If he were ever suicidally motivated, then being saved might be nice. (Depending on what had driven him that far, as he can’t actually conceive of feeling like ending it without a damn good reason.) If he might be working under Snoke’s – or a Knight’s – control, then he’d rather be snapped from it.

“But not for a simple disagreement?”

“Hux… I promise. I won’t. Unless I really, truly think you need me to, I won’t go into your head. Not without your express permission. _Believe me_ , I know how people can be annoyed with me for that. Mom was okay, but Dad…”

Hux does not want to be equated with Han Solo in any shape, manner, or form. “It’s new to me, is all.”

“And me.” Kylo’s hand grabs his shoulder, curling a claw-like grip into it. “Remember, I was evil a few months ago.”

“…I wouldn’t go so far as ‘evil’, but I’d agree ‘not good’.”

“Semantics.” The Knight shakes his head in amusement. “The point being, I was encouraged to go into heads whenever I needed, and I definitely didn’t have… this.”

Whatever ‘this’ is. “Is there a reason you – uh – just called me ‘Hux’?”

“…I didn’t know what else to say. You didn’t even ever tell me your rank.”

For some reason, this is the funniest thing ever. _Ever_. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep a burst of giggles from exploding out of him, and turns to kiss at the other man’s neck. “Not what I meant.”

“Well, I’m not supposed to read your mind…”

He says it in a complete deadpan, but Hux knows he’s teasing, somehow. “You can sometimes. If I tell you it’s okay.”

“You didn’t right n—”

Hux decides if he wants to be in control again, he better _take_ control, so he grabs Kylo’s shirt like the other man did to him, and turns to smash their mouths together a little more forcefully. Kylo doesn’t fight him off, and instead grabs for his waist, which Hux takes as an open invitation to move.

So he does. He cocks his right leg, twists, and drops himself down astride the other man’s lap. He sits down on his haunches, and shuffles up until his chest is against Kylo’s, and then uses his free hand to grab a handful of dark hair close to his neck. “Now is when you tell me not to kiss you… again.”

Okay, so he didn’t exactly ask permission like Kylo did, but he’s also pretty sure that making out is now an agreed-upon part of what they are. Making out buddies. Friends with kisses. Or… whatever, anyway. 

“You can kiss me all you want,” Kylo replies. And then, after a pause: “ _Please_.”

Oh, **fuck**. That word sounds weirdly hotter than it should. Hux is going to need a cold shower if he’s not careful. He’s not completely sure if he wants this to keep going to the inevitable conclusion, yet, even if his body definitely likes Kylo. And his head does, more often than not. 

Getting comfortable, he makes sure his chest rests completely against Kylo’s, feeling the thud of both hearts bouncing back and forth. The hand on his shirt gives, then slides up and to his throat, pushing into the soft space below his jaw, keeping him still. The other knots more fully in his hair, and he turns his own head enough to get in close. A softer, teasing touch… lips pulling Kylo’s away from his teeth, then slipping his tongue across the slash of his mouth, and requesting he part.

A little hissing noise as Kylo does, and he licks inside, feeling the soft glide of his tongue welcoming him in. The hands on his waist tighten, and the fingers stretch way behind his back, stroking a heat up his spine that’s impossible to ignore. Hux is definitely reacting to this, and when he rocks a little back and forth, he thinks that’s pretty good proof that Kylo’s starting to respond, too.

Yep. Pretty damn good proof. 

Hux licks as deeply as he can, then sits back, finishing the kiss with a little peck on his spit-slick lips, gazing at Kylo. The younger man looks dazed, his eyes half-shut and dark underneath his razor-wire lashes. His pale skin flushes beautifully, and Hux feels less self-conscious about his own pallid complexion, now. Kylo swallows, his whole throat working, and Hux kind of wants to… he has really nice lips, and… 

“Kylo.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to read my mind.”

“…right now?”

Hux nods. Yes. It will be easier to ask with an unspoken thought than it would be to frame the words aloud. Easier, and more intimate. From the way things are moving, he’s pretty sure Kylo would be interested in going further, but he definitely doesn’t want to spook him.

Also, this is stupid. Isn’t it? They only want to do this because they’re both fucked up, they got caged together, and have weird co-saviour complexes, right? So he should do the sensible thing and cool this down and give it some space?

Wait, fuck, he was supposed to be—

“Did you hear all of that?”

“…sort of,” Kylo admits, chagrined. “I thought you were ready?”

“…so did I?”

Bollocks. So much for sensual, seductive flirtation. 

“That wasn’t what I meant to think,” Hux tries.

“We don’t have to do this, if you’re not sure, or ready.”

“Kylo…” He sucks on his own lip, and wrinkles his nose up. “Okay. Will we ever really be completely ready, or completely sure? The last time I tried to distance… I did end up captured, tortured, and other fun things.”

“But what if we… what if this is a bad idea?”

“If we both want to make it not be, then it… won’t be. Even if it doesn’t last. As long as… as we promise not to hate one another if it doesn’t last?” Oh, he’s so fucking romantic. Maybe he should bolt again? Except this is _his_ place, and maybe that’s why Kylo picked it.

Hux can’t run so easily from his own place, he’d have to kick Kylo out.

“I won’t hate you, but I might be sad.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be… convinced. I mean. Entirely. All the time. While we’re trying. I’m… I’m prone to over-analysing.”

“I had noticed.” Kylo leans, kissing the tip of his nose. “For what it’s worth, I think everyone thinks unhelpful things at times, from what I’ve seen. So you probably don’t need to worry about that, all that much.”

“Have I completely spoiled the mood?”

“You could make it up with another kiss?”

Hux relaxes a little, realising he’d tensed right up. To be expected, really. It’s a new thing, letting Kylo in, and it would be hard even without the mind-reading. He catches the full, lower lip in his, sucking it plumper, fuller, and worrying with his teeth and tongue. Kylo’s mouth opens, and this time his tongue fucks quicker: in and out, in and out. He makes it firm on the strokes, and then thinks: _can you hear me?_

It’s weird, but he ‘feels’ the _yes_. It’s not like hearing his voice inside his mind, it’s just the knowledge of the word, like listening to his own thoughts. Those aren’t in his ‘voice’, but he knows they’re ‘his’, and he can tell that this latest thought is not ‘him’. Interesting.

Okay. Time to tell him what he’d planned before.

_I was thinking how your lips are so beautiful, and your mouth, and throat. And how good they’d look wrapped around my cock_.

Try not to hyperventilate on the kiss and – okay – Kylo _chokes_ of a sudden, and makes a weird, whiny noise and grabs hold of Hux’s ass and slams him hard towards him. Hux entirely forgets to be embarrassed by the filthy images he’s imagining, on account of Kylo trying to grind him into his groin, biting back at his lips and thinking one thing, over and over and over.

_Please_.

Oh, yes. Hux wants this. It could be they’re both being stupid, but what’s life without a little stupidity? It’s been boring and lonely and depressing and unfulfilling, so far. No real sense of accomplishment or connection, and this is the first time he’s felt that _spark_ with someone, and even if they fuck like beasts in heat for a month and then become just friends… well. They’ll have a month of fucking to look back on fondly.

It’s worth the risk.

Hux slams Kylo backwards – hands on his shoulders – and looks at those lips again. They’re flushed pinker, soft and welcoming, bowed in the middle like a target for his cock. He looks one last time to check he’s game with this, and then arches his spine, grateful for the two hands on his back supporting him. He keeps his eyes on Kylo’s as he unfastens his belt, fighting the nerves.

(What if he’s not enough? What if he’s too small? What if Kylo doesn’t enjoy it?)

Kylo still looks hopeful, his eyes flickering up and down, throat working. He looks enraptured, and that’s the biggest aphrodisiac of all. Hux slips the belt out slowly, letting the notches catch on the belt loops, and then drops it to the ground. Kylo’s hands keep there on his spine, allowing him the freedom to toss his head back as he slips the button open, and shoves a hand into his own pants.

His cock is hard, of course. How couldn’t it be, at the thought of that mouth? In the cramped confines of his own cargo pants he rubs over it, through the black boxers. Somehow it’s infinitely hotter knowing Kylo is watching his every move, and he has to remember not to just jizz all over his hand right now.

Down goes the zipper, and the black, elasticated waistband. He pushes it to rest under his balls, his other hand still shielding and cupping himself. One last reticence, one last tease. He moves his hands, then, back onto Kylo’s shoulders for a moment, letting him look. 

“It’s – you’re – beautiful, you know?” Kylo murmurs, his voice resonant with wonder. 

Hux has never thought of himself on that spectrum. He’s just _existed_ , and nothing more. That’s it. But under Kylo’s appreciative gaze, he feels pride swell into him, making his cock bob and rise higher. “It’ll look better with you on it.”

“Please. I’d love to.”

Hux knows in theory how this all works, and vaguely about the practice. But that doesn’t prepare him for rising to push one foot between the cushions at the back of the couch, knee driven into the plush upholstery, only keeping his balance and control because Kylo keeps hold of him. 

As promised, he lines up the tip with that dip in the middle, below his nose, and slides little rocks of his hips to push up and down. Kylo’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t push inside straight off. He grabs his shaft, under the head, and drags it left and right to paint over them. “Gorgeous,” he whispers. “You’re the one who’s beautiful.”

He is. He really is. All stark, strong features with soft, loving eyes. All fierce lines to cut, and sharp tongue to lap, and then a bounce of hair to bury your hands in. Hux takes the back of Kylo’s head in his palm, then guides the very tip of his cock inside his mouth.

Nothing prepares him for that. Soft, silky heat, and the vaguest hint of teeth. Maybe the teeth are a tiny bit worrying, but then he’s pushed past and onto his tongue, and Hux has to suck his own lips in to keep from his own whimper. Yes. Oh, oh yes. He doesn’t care how misguided this is, not if it feels _this good_. He blazes out his satisfaction and eager anticipation, hoping Kylo can feel it, can be reassured by it.

Kylo’s hands move, pushing under the looser waistband of his pants, under his boxers, feeling for his ass, trying to get skin-to-skin. He kneads at him, and Hux finds that weirdly satisfying. He starts to thrust very minutely, making sure he doesn’t go too fast and hurt, or choke Kylo. He has no idea how much he can take…

_Neither do I_.

Oh, very odd. Kylo’s mouth is full, so the thought has to be voiced internally. That’s going to take some getting used to, but then Kylo tries to slurp and _holy hell is that the hottest thing ever_ and Hux actually **does** strangle out a note of pleasure.

_Please. Don’t hold back. I can take it._

With the Force? Probably. Hux nods, and takes Kylo’s head in both hands. He holds him still, then starts to fuck his face properly. He’s not going to last near long enough, and he hopes Kylo doesn’t find that insulting, but as evidence of how fucking sexy he is. Because those lips look gorgeous stretched to accommodate him, and then he holds his face down and down until his cock won’t go any deeper into his throat, and Kylo’s nose-breaths stutter to a stop. Hell. Oh, oh, hell.

**_Please_**. 

“…want me to pull out?” Hux manages to ask.

Kylo shakes his head subtly, so Hux pulls back but not out, then grabs at his balls and rolls them fiercely as he thrusts more shallowly. He’s not sure how he’s getting to the edge this fast, Kylo is just that wonderful, and – and – and – 

The climax is a lightsaber through the small of his back, exploding out through his cock. Or something. Spearing, sparking heat and a laugh that forces itself out of his mouth as he comes, spurting into his (his Kylo? Are they really not going to use labels?) … whatever Kylo is to him. Into his mouth, the force of it dizzying and bittersweet in the knowledge that it’s over.

Well. This one is. _They_ aren’t. And if it feels that wonderful, he’s going to want to do it some more. (Preferably a _lot_.) 

Kylo slurps and swallows, and when Hux lets his cock fall back out, the Knight wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then licks it. He looks positively smug when he looks up, and Hux feels a tight, vice-like fondness in his ribs as he goes back to kneel down. 

“Thank you.”

“I enjoyed it, too, you know,” Kylo replies, brushing off the gratitude.

Hux knows. He can feel the bump of his boner between them, and he slips his hand to grind the palm down into it. “You could enjoy it some more.”

“…I’d like that.”

It’s not that Hux doesn’t want to suck him, he does. But he’s also not sure he can balance on the floor on his knees after his climax, and he wants to get some practice in with inanimate things before he tries to manage Kylo.

Especially when he parts the buttons and slithers his hand inside. Kylo is _not_ a small boy, and Hux knows he’s going to need to work up to that, to fit it in anywhere. Licking he can do, but he’ll dislocate his jaw if he tries to swallow it.

And Hux likes to do things _properly or not at all_.

So he curls his fingers around the shaft, and looks at Kylo, finding his eyes glassy and his expression slack-jawed with bliss. He smirks, feeling the affectionate lassitude make him warm and comfortable. It seems like everything that needed to crack has cracked, and now he just wants to get Kylo to the same point so they can maybe do some in-depth cuddling and maybe eat some snacks. 

“You have a wonderful cock,” Hux says, only thinking after if that’s even what you say in this situation, when you’re twisting your grip along it, finding where to press harder, and where to linger. He slides his palm over the head, dragging circles before he goes back to jacking it with intent.

“It likes you a lot.”

“I like it a lot.” 

Okay, now their penises are talking about feelings more than they are?

“I like _you_ a lot,” Hux tries.

“I know.” Kylo flashes teeth. “You’re not too bad.”

He punishes him for that by kissing the laugh back inside, and working his fist so hard his bicep starts to ache. Harder, and Kylo tries to flex and thrust under him, but Hux’s weight holds him down. He’s completely at Hux’s mercy, and _that sends a weird little spiral off twirling internally_ , and he bites Kylo’s mouth open and fucks with his tongue as he wants to do with other parts of him, later.

_The things I’m going to do to you_ , Hux promises. _I’m going to rip you to pieces and put you back together again._

That gets the Knight scratching at his shoulders through his shirt, pleading into his mouth and desperate to reach his orgasm, too. Hux can feel the whine electric in the air, and then he sucks Kylo’s tongue into his mouth.

_I’m going to make you scream, and you’re not going to know if it’s for mercy, or for more_.

Kylo hits his plateau at once, the threat-promise sending a hot, spluttery explosion through his cock. It threads all over them both, and Hux doesn’t stop sucking his tongue, or beating at his worn dick until Kylo sounds almost _agonised_ , and he lets go of his tongue to put his lips by his ear.

“You want it, don’t you? You got as turned on as I did when we used to fight, just as much as when we were gentle?”

Hux cannot _technically_ read minds. Except. He sort of can.

The bleating noise from Kylo is more than a yes, and he nods, clutching at him and shaking. He obviously wants that more than air, and Hux sinks his teeth in to the whip-cord of his neck, biting down to the curve of his shoulder. Seal made, he sucks hard; hard enough to make the skin pink and hot with the mark, enough to ensure he claims his territory, and everything that follows.

Bad idea.

_Best idea_.

He’s not sure if that thought was him, Kylo, or both. When he lifts from his neck, Kylo looks… _hopeful_. So very, very hopeful.

“Anything. Everything. All of it… Please?”

Fuck. Oh **fuck**. Yes. “You’ll have it,” Hux promises. “I’m going to show you why this is worth any risk.” Any. Every. All.

Kylo takes a staccato, strobe breath in. “I’m all yours, Hux. I am.”

His. His Knight. And he’s his Hux. Yes. Hux kisses him sweeter, and everything kind of… slots into place. He doesn’t need the Force to look into Kylo’s head, or to control him. 

And Kylo wants him to. At least – for once – the person who has his strings wants to dance him to nothing but safety and happiness. Hux will show them what a loving, caring hand can do. Because… he’s starting to realise he can. He can be that, he can do that, and _he wants to, oh so badly_.

“Let’s clean up. If you’re anything like I expect, we’re going to need snacks to keep going through round two.” 

Hux watches as Kylo floats over some paper tissues, and they daub one another clean. He steals another kiss, and carefully moves to sit alongside him. He’s feeling… good. Really damn good. Like, better than just sex should be, and he realises…

“I should tell you to stop reading my mind, right?”

“Probably.”

“In a bit.” Not right now. It is definitely not something he’d want Kylo to do permanently, but he feels so open and gushy that the thought of Kylo feeling that reassurance is… right. Another kiss. Another. 

He’s happy. It’s worth spreading around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> By [Doodlingthingies](http://doodlingthingies.tumblr.com/tagged/Com)


	22. Chapter 22

Hux wakes in his own bed, this time. In his own bed, in still-stiff sheets. They smell of detergent, and he’s not alone. He’s not alone, because he and Kylo finally made it to the bed, after the shower, and fell asleep between kisses. 

And Hux is feeling pretty damn good about that. All things considered, the evening they just spent is up there on his top ten list of things he’s done so far, and this time when he wakes to see Kylo snoring lightly… he doesn’t feel the need to run.

Kylo wants him. He does. Hux still can’t believe the man charged across the galaxy with only a pilot and a tiny ship, just to rescue him. It’s the kind of stuff his family is known for, but Hux never thought he would… well. Thought anyone would consider him worthy of so much effort and risk. He’s nothing special in the command structure, and it’s only the personal connection to Kylo that saved his ass. Both times, probably, as that’s likely why Ithon didn’t just run him through with his own blade.

He’s important. He doesn’t have any Death Star plans, or Force powers, but had Han Solo got either of those when his friends rescued him from Jabba? No. And Leia’s asked them both to work on a new unit, which… sounds like it could be dangerous, but if Kylo’s involved, too, Hux is pretty sure he’s got the best insurance policy in the whole of space and time watching his ass. In more ways than one.

Then there’s the whole part where… Hux kind of thinks he has more than just a crush. It had hurt, having the other Knight throw it in his face like an insult. Hurt to think it was some joke, or weapon. The truth is he really does care about Kylo’s future, about him feeling safe and secure. He likes him physically, sure, but… emotionally. Even if it’s not going to work out in the long run between them (and he hopes it does), he’s still sure he’d want the best for him.

Kylo sleeps peacefully, mostly bundled in his arms. His nights in the cells had often been disturbed, but this one has him utterly relaxed and off his guard. Hux watches the little breaths and tiny twitches of his hands, and thinks it’s sickeningly perfect. He glances at the chrono, then decides he can try for another hour, maybe.

He doesn’t have to be anywhere but here.

***

“Are you _sure_ you want to do this?”

“Do you want me to say no so you have a reason to escape?”

“That isn’t what I said, Hux.”

No, but it may well be want he meant. Which Hux would understand, because his family relations are still not the best, and in all honesty, it’s kind of intimidating. However, if he and Kylo are going to remain the term-less item they are, and live on the base and work for the Resistance, getting the Organa-Solos on board is a good plan.

“I’m sure,” Hux insists. “I’ll go through with it, so long as you want to, as well.”

“Okay.” Kylo takes a slow breath, and it’s clear he’s talking to himself just as much. “Okay.”

Hux has never formally met Han Solo, or Chewbacca for that matter. They’ve only just arrived back on D’Qar, and Leia decided to pull in the rain check dinner for such an occasion. Which means she must also think they’re serious. And as Kylo’s moved his few personal belongings in over the course of the week… they kind of are. It’s the most serious relationship he’s ever been in, and they don’t even formally acknowledge themselves as _in one_.

Hux doesn’t have many very nice outfits, and Kylo has even less, but he’s also insisted they don’t need to dress too fancy, as Han apparently doesn’t go in for much except shaving when it’s something like this. 

So he’s wearing a charcoal grey shirt, and normal black slacks. Kylo’s in a deep, midnight blue tunic and black cargo pants that still, somehow, look good and smart on him. They walk up to Leia’s house with matching strides, and Kylo’s hand barely raps on the door before it’s opened.

Leia, of course, looks fabulous. Hux would expect nothing else.

“Kylo, Hux… I’m so pleased you could join us.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Hux replies, a tiny little incline of his head.

“Are Dad and Chewie here, yet?”

“They’re in the living room. If you’d like to come through?”

Leia leads them in, and Hux tries not to let his nerves show. He smiles a little awkwardly (how do you smile on command? Suddenly he forgets how facial muscles work naturally, and his cheeks and jaw ache from the counterfeit emotion), noting with amusement how much like his father Kylo looks.

And how nothing like the Wookie, other than the height. When Chewbacca stands to greet them, he towers a head and shoulders over everyone, and his mouth opens in a Shyriiwook greeting. Hux doesn’t speak the language very well, but Kylo’s taught him how to understand the basics, and he nods politely over to him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Hux says.

Chewie makes a bee-line for Kylo, and wraps his arms around the other man. Hux watches with amusement as Kylo almost vanishes inside the brown fur, and then he sees Han eyeing him up. 

“Leia tells me you two kids broke out of a Star Destroyer,” the veteran General drawls. “You end up in the trash compactor, too?”

“Actually, Kylo got me out without resorting to garbage,” Hux says, trying to keep the pride to only normal levels, and not to ‘smug’ (which is how he really feels).

He does not point out that this is helped by the fact that they both know their way around First Order ships. That’s a little too gauche. 

“That so?” Han crosses his feet over the other way on the coffee table. “Want to tell us how?”

Chewie roars something that sounds like an affirmative, as Kylo squirms out from his embrace. “It was very much thanks to Poe’s flying.”

“Uhuh.” Han’s arms fold. “Right.”

Chewie says something else, ruffling Kylo’s hair as he escapes.

Hux can’t help but gloat a little. “Kylo found troopers, interrogated them, stole the ship, conned his way onboard, then single-handedly released me and got me back to the ship. Which – by the way – involved deflecting multiple ion cannon. With the Force.”

The Wookie shoves Kylo’s shoulder, and Hux watches as Kylo beams, wobbling from the contact. “It wasn’t much.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you say that. If she thinks it’s easy to break people out of Imperial ships, she might divorce me.” Han shakes his head. 

“I think she’d have done it already, and you can always claim you taught me.”

He really is Han Solo’s son, isn’t he? Hux feels his smile grow natural at that. When Kylo gets into full sway, his tongue is sharper than his side-arm. 

“I heard that,” Leia calls through. “Are you gentlemen and one scoundrel coming through, or not?”

“Chewie ain’t that bad,” Han grumbles, and winks at Hux.

Hux knows full well that Han is just being companionable, but it’s kind of surreal to be on the end of his slightly heavy-handed charm. He can see how Han could both be a wonderful friend, and a terrible one, too. 

They pile through to the dining table, and Hux ends up sitting next to Kylo, across the table from Han who sits roughly in the middle of the other side. Chewie sits at the foot of the table, and Leia at the head. The food is in the centre, self-service, and Hux realises it’s supposed to be a great leveller, rather than an attempt at social warfare that will leave him anxious over every bite. Great.

There’s a tiny knock of knee against his, and he squeezes Kylo’s thigh in thanks for the show of support, waiting for someone else to go first.

“Please, don’t wait.” Leia nods at the spread, picking up her glass and taking a sip.

Kylo and Han both reach at the same time. The mirroring is almost unsettling, but Hux chooses to grab some bread and one of the cheeses and not dwell on it overmuch. Kylo has plenty of ways he differs from both of his parents, even if their stamp is still present in his wax. 

Chewie grabs his own food, and picks up the over-sized cutlery to eat. Hux finds himself staring for a moment, before he remembers that’s downright rude. He’s just never seen cutlery that large before, and why didn’t he ever wonder how a Wookie would eat? They obviously do, same as almost every species. He really did grow up in a backwater, didn’t he? Thanks to Brendol.

“You tell ‘em yet?” Han asks, cryptically.

“I was planning to wait until caf and dessert, Han.”

“Tell us what?” Kylo asks.

“Well _now_ I can’t wait, can I?” Han says, waving something around in one hand, which threatens to fall apart over the table.

This was likely his not-so-cunning plan. He watches as the two parents lock eyes, and he briefly wonders if Leia can also do the mind thing, or if that’s a Kylo-only gift. Also, they need to establish some signals of their own for when he wants to talk to Kylo without anyone else hearing, because that could come in useful. Especially if they go out on active duty together, and—

“Han’s been looking for a map to Luke,” Leia says, dragging her eyes away from her husband. 

“Yeah, on a scrapheap of a planet called Jakku. Leia had one of her pilots meet up with an old friend there. Which is when he found her.”

“Her?” Hux is confused.

“The _Falcon_?” Kylo asks, leaning over the table. “You found her?”

Oh. Right. Other than Leia, no other ‘female’ would likely be as important to Han Solo. 

“Going tomorrow to pick her up. You two want to come help me out?”

It’s a milk run, to get them into the swing of things, right? And maybe to let them bond with Han and Chewie. Hux is not much of a ship enthusiast; he knows about the makes and models, even knows some routine specs. However, there are certain crafts that just scream at you, that no one in their right mind would ever, _ever_ walk past. The _Falcon_ was already steeped in history and oral legend before her days in the Rebellion.

The ship that made the Kessel Run in… how many parsecs? He better not ask. If he gets it wrong, it will likely cause a diplomatic incident the likes of which have never been seen since Darth Vader attacked Princess Leia’s ship and took Breha and Bail Organa’s daughter prisoner. 

Kylo looks over to him, hope in his eyes. He nods, just a little. 

_You’re sure_?

“We’d love to,” Hux says aloud, using Kylo’s silent question as proof positive of his interest. 

“Shouldn’t be any real problem,” Han drawls. “Then we find the pilot.”

Wait, what?

“Han…” Leia’s voice sounds like he’ll be in trouble, later. But now the dam is broken, so she looks back to her pair of guests. “Poe went to find the map, from Lor San Tekka. He contacted us to let us know he’d spotted the _Falcon_ , and then he went dark.”

Hux feels his oesophagus turn to lead. “Poe is missing?”

“We have to find him,” Kylo blurts out. He looks pleadingly over at Hux. 

Of course they do. Even if he only had the map to Luke, they would have to. Even if he was just Kylo’s old childhood friend, they’d have to. But they especially have to now that Poe saved _him_. It’s just – oh. He won’t need to buy him any brandy, now. Small mercies.

“Why aren’t we going right now?” Kylo hisses through his teeth.

“We found out just before dinner,” Leia replies. “I wanted you to have some time to talk, first, and eat.”

Suddenly, a jolt of realisation makes Hux sit up straighter. _Ithon_. Hux had told him they were looking for Luke. What if that’s why they tracked down Tekka, or Poe? What if it’s his fault they have him? What if he’s being interrogated and tortured _right now_ because of him? He thought he’d been keeping people safe by not thinking about the anti-Starkiller runs, but now…

“We’ll get him back,” Hux says, wishing he felt as confident as he sounds. Even half as confident. He puts his hand over Kylo’s, on the table, lightly squeezing reassurance in. 

Chewie says something that Hux has no chance of interpreting.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be like old times,” Han replies, nodding at the Wookie.

Hux glances over at Kylo, wondering if he’ll get the message and—

_Did you want to say something?_

Apparently they already have a signal. Good.

 _Are all your family dinners like this?_ He thinks the question with no small amount of wryness in his internal tones.

_This one is pretty tame. No one’s screaming, yet, and at least they’re being open about the missions instead of how they used to pretend and speak in code when I was a child._

_Which wouldn’t work anyway._

On account of Kylo – Ben – being both smart, _and_ Force-psychic.

 _No._ The answer is somewhat depressed, lost in the memory.

Hux licks his thumb clean of sauce, and grabs his glass of fruit squash. He now knows why they’re not serving any alcohol. “What planet did you say we were going to?”

“Jakku,” Leia says.

Hux has never heard of it. It would have been best if he never had.


	23. Chapter 23

The ship Han and Chewie brought is a big freighter, much bigger than the _Falcon_. Which makes sense, if they’re planning to bring it home. The minute the old Corellian freighter gets back up in the skies, there’ll be alert after alert within the First Order. _Everyone_ knows the _Falcon_. Her days as a smuggling ship ended pretty much around the time of the first Death Star, and her only defence now is her speed.

This one has no name to her, and no credentials. This one _is_ a smuggler’s ship, through and through. Hux throws his small rucksack onto the small, non-descript cot, frowning.

Is this Han trying to cock-block them? Or being entirely clueless? Not that he’s sure either of them could manage to – uh – perform knowing they’re on board the same ship as Kylo’s father and adoptive uncle. But they have neighbouring rooms with single-occupancy beds: not even twin beds. They slept closer together when Kylo was still a prisoner, and this is a weird place to get separation anxiety, but it’s happening all the same.

Kylo doesn’t turn up in his room, so Hux thinks perhaps he’s busy, or… maybe he should go look. If nothing else, Hux doesn’t want to spend all his time on his own, after all.

The tall man _flinches small_ when he opens the door, and when Kylo’s face turns to see who interrupted, there’s a moment before he locks down tight on the expression he’d been wearing. 

Well. Shit.

“Kylo?”

“Sorry, I’ll just be a minute.”

Otherwise known as: please leave.

Hux does not want to leave. Not when Kylo looks that upset. On the one hand, he should respect his wishes. On the other hand, feeling so shitty alone is rarely a good idea. “You want to talk about it?” Whatever ‘it’ is.

“No.”

But there’s a wobble in his tone that suggests otherwise. Hux has spent years honing his ear to the difference between words and intent, and he leans on the door-frame, arms across his chest. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s stupid, okay?”

“It might be, but it’s bugging you. And if it’s bugging you, even if it’s dumb, it’s important.” If nothing else, Hux does not want to sort-of-date someone who is in a bad mood. No… he doesn’t want someone he sort-of-dates to _be in a bad mood_. The difference is minor, but major, all at once.

“You’ll hate me.”

“Kylo… you’ve literally seen the inside of my head. Can we get over the part where we think we’re going to hate one another, possibly?”

The man doesn’t face him, his shoulders hunched in anger. Hux decides the anger probably has to be there for the moment, so he doesn’t push it. 

“It’s my fault.”

“…come again?” Hux pushes.

“It’s my fault. I made him late on his mission. I made him late, saving you, and if I had my time over again, I’m such a shitty person that I’d probably still save you and risk him,” Kylo blurts out in a rush.

Oh. Oh. _Oh_. How do you process _that_? There was Hux, feeling uncharitably jealous of Poe for even existing, and Kylo has to admit he’d risk his old friend’s ass just to save him? He probably should feel worried that Kylo would make such a call, but he can’t. He can’t, because he’s selfish, and because he’d been tortured so much that he really, really wanted rescuing. 

Not that he’d wish it on Poe, or want to swap places, but he’s definitely more grateful than not that they sprung him loose. 

“…I kept thinking the same thing, you know.” He processes how bad that could sound only a second later. “I mean: that it was my fault. I kept thinking about finding Luke really hard, so he wouldn’t push me to things I was hiding. So I thought it must be my fault, because… because the Order went looking for the map, too.”

Kylo drops onto the bed, then, the anger giving way to sheer frustration and worry. Hux waits a moment before he stands between those parted knees, one hand on Kylo’s shoulder, the other brushing his hair back from his face. Kylo grabs at the fabric of his shirt, near his hip, and holds on, butting his head into Hux’s chest. 

“I just needed you back,” he says, muffled into his stomach. “And then I realised how selfish I was. How… how I’d pretty much do anything to get you back, and how that made me a horrible Human being.”

“I’m sure there are things – maybe not many – but that you wouldn’t do.” This would be easier for Hux if _he_ was a good man. 

“Less than a normal person.”

“If you’re asking me to be disappointed in you for wanting to keep me safe, it’s not going to happen. You _know_ we have… more flexible morals than most people. You know that.” So flexible, in fact, as to be floppy. Or contortionist. Or both. 

“So I’m not really ‘good’, am I?”

Ah. He pulls Kylo’s face sideways, so he can better stroke through his hair, and holds onto his shoulder with his off-hand. “It’s not a yes-no answer, you do realise? There isn’t… it’s not a flip switch between the two. It’s… it’s more like a spectrum.”

“…if you use the term ‘shades of grey’, I may kill you.”

Hux snorts. “Okay. How about a tapestry? With different sections in different colours, and some parts of it splattered with blood? Good people do bad things. Bad people do good things. It’s not like you have to permanently do nothing wrong in order to be good.”

There’s a heavy sigh, and arms that cinch around his waist. Hux doesn’t mind this at all. Maybe he’s getting acclimatised to touching Kylo? It would make life easier, if so. He likes the reassurance of it, the grounding, and the way it winds them tighter together. 

“I just… I really felt like… like things were going better. But every time I feel like that? You run off, or Poe is captured, or—”

“We’ll get him back.”

“Will we?”

“You got me back, didn’t you?”

There’s a shuffling, tickling movement and the Knight looks up at him. “I want to save him. I do.” But. There’s a but. “…but I… I want it a lot, but…”

 _I wanted to save you more_.

He doesn’t say it aloud, too ashamed of himself. 

And oh, but that sets strange things sloshing around internally. Hux slides a hand under Kylo’s jaw, forcing his head upright as he steps back enough to bend. Bend, stoop, and kiss him softly on the lips. It’s possible he shouldn’t encourage him like this, but… damn is it good to hear that. 

“I’m flattered. And… I’m pretty sure you’re not a monster for having preferences. I’m _pretty sure_ that just makes you normal.” The bend isn’t good for his back, not for long, but he can stay in position a little while at least. 

“Alright. I—you’re right, I just…” Kylo’s hands close over his, and he takes a slow, chest-shuddering breath in. “I’d do more or less anything to get you home safely. It’s why I’m worried about this. What if I do something… to save you… that you don’t like? Or something that’s a step too far?” 

“Like… what?”

“Well, I don’t know. But I’m sure there are things you’d prefer I didn’t do.”

Kill me, is the first thing that comes to his own mind. But this isn’t helpful. “There’s plenty of things you could do I wouldn’t be happy with, but if they were genuinely… okay. No.” He moves, sitting down beside him on the cot. “I’d prefer you didn’t throw the whole Resistance or Republic under a speederbike for me. Or blow up a whole planet. Or destroy millions of people. I’d much prefer that, but if you use your common sense, and do things… a little close to the line? That’s fine.”

“Would you hate me forever if I did something terrible?”

“No, but I can’t say I’d sleep well at nights if you wiped out, say, the whole of Kashyyyk. I’m not worth that.”

“What if I think you are?”

“Kylo, do you really think I’m worth more than billions of Wookies?”

“…you’re worth a lot.”

“You wouldn’t blow up Kashyyyk, and I wouldn’t expect you to. Stop trying to doom this before we even get a chance to properly start it.” And then he realises he’s just… Kylo just told him he’d pretty much do anything for him. Like. Like it’s the most logical statement ever, like it’s as patently normal as saying his name on first meeting someone.

He feels kind of floaty-good about that, and he pecks a kiss to the Knight’s cheek. It really doesn’t equal the sentiment, but he’s unsure how he could express it.

“I’d… pretty much go to jail for you, too, for what it’s worth,” Hux whispers against his ear.

“…you kind of did, you know.”

“I meant and stay there.”

“I’d come join you,” Kylo offers, and then he’s smiling again. Shy, reserved, but smiles all the same. “Even if they wouldn’t let me. I’d keep breaking out to come move in with you.”

“…that is both distressing, and cute.”

“It is my forte.”

It’s certainly that. Hux kisses his cheek again, and lets his lips drift closer to his mouth. Kylo turns obediently towards him, and they trade slow, lazy kisses without any pressure for anything more. Hux lets Kylo stroke his tongue into his mouth, then sucks gently on it as the ship purrs on through hyperspace. The kisses continue – hands clasped, knees pushed together – until a throat clearing drags their attention up and to the door.

To. Han Solo. To Kylo’s _father_. Who is looking at him not like he wants to shoot him, but the expression is a complicated one. He did realise, right? When his wife invited them over to dinner _together_?

“We’re a ways off Jakku, but… Chewie wanted to know if anyone wanted to play Dejarik with him? He might even let you win a few rounds,” Han says, like he didn’t just catch them sucking face.

Hux wonders if deflecting things onto others is genetic, or a learned behaviour for this lot. He grips Kylo’s hand, telling him it’s okay if he wants to.

“You don’t want to let him beat _you_?” Kylo asks his father. 

Which is, of course, cunning. Hux is sure Han and Chewie have spent so much time together that a simple holo game is below their leisure time. Kylo’s pushing the ball back into their court, making it obvious they’re wanted. Warfare, just a subtle kind. 

“Look, are you coming, or not?”

“We’ll be up in a minute,” Kylo agrees.

“Alright. You want drinks?” 

“I’d love a mug of caf, if you’ve got a machine.”

“If I’ve got a machine… what do you think this is? A floating hotel?”

Hux grins. “If it is, can I have a room upgrade?”

Kylo pushes his face into Hux’s neck to hide his snigger, and he only feels a little bad for teasing the man’s father. After all, Han’s committed countless crimes against Kylo, and Hux is still in that phase where he can’t really be airlocked. Or threatened with it.

“Get your backsides up on deck. Chewie gets impatient, alright? And I’ll make your damn caf. For the love of—”

Han wanders off, and Kylo holds him tighter. “You know, he likes you.”

“Really?”

“He’s never offered anyone else a drink before. That’s pretty much you now better than adopted.”

“Huh.” Well. That’s a good sign, after all. “…you think he’s… you think he doesn’t mind we’re…”

“Together?”

Hux nods.

“He probably thinks you’re too good for me, you do realise?”

Hux chokes at that, and then sees that Kylo looks _serious_. Right. “Well, he’d be entirely wrong.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Hux. But… we should probably go play with Chewie. Dejarik is serious business for him, and if you lose to him honourably, you’ll get his seal of approval, too.”

“…what if I beat him, or if I’m terrible at it?”

“…I’ll stop him ripping off your limbs.”

“You better be joking.”

“Oh, I’m not: I really will stop him ripping off your limbs.”

What the hell kind of family has he gone and got himself into? This sounds even more politically difficult than dating the big boss’ son. At least Leia obeys the laws of convention and social niceties. Hux slips to his feet, and holds his hand out to help Kylo up. “I haven’t played in a while. You go first and show me how it’s done?”

“You just want to laugh at me losing.”

Hux looks as innocent as he can imagine. “Would I ever?”


	24. Chapter 24

Jakku, it turns out, is horrible. Hux has the unfortunate grace to be pale skinned and red haired, which means he takes one look at solar radiation and burns to a crisp. It’s not even like sunscreen helps; he puts it on, and anywhere his fingers slipped and missed turns into an agonising streak of despair. Even if he tries to build up some form of base tan, it fails.

He goes from white, to tomato, back to white. There’s nothing between the polar opposites, and really, the best defence he’s found is to remain away from temperatures above his basic tolerance. End of. 

Jakku is above his basic tolerance. Jakku is one blazing ball of hate and sand. Jakku is really the last place in the galaxy – other than, say, the _Finalizer_ – that Hux would like to be.

Kylo also doesn’t look like he’s particularly pleased. His Knight tends to wear darker colours as standard, and as such he has nothing to help mitigate the blazing monstrosity that is Niima Outpost. Both of them are the wrong shape to borrow anything of Han’s, and plus… Hux doesn’t think he’d want to.

Chewie got out of this, though. Apparently being ninety percent fluff, and recognisable in Han’s presence means he has to (poor thing) stay behind, leaving the Humans to suffer on the sandy hell-face. 

“What did Poe’s message say?” Hux asks, as they stomp through the sands towards the central building of the outpost.

“Said he’d picked up something that looked like my girl. And that he was going to Tekka’s village.”

Hux wonders why they are therefore heading to the ship, first. 

“Shouldn’t someone go to the village?” Kylo asks. Apparently he has less of an issue questioning a decorated war-General.

“…this place has more chance of telling us about First Order sightings,” Han says, dismissively.

Hux is less inclined to believe that’s the reason.

“Leave this to me.”

As Han swaggers over to talk to the Crolute manning the hub building, Hux turns to Kylo. He’s about to make a quiet comment about the likely outcome of this when he sees a strange, distant look on the other man’s face. His eyes are hazy, like he’s looking way off into the distance, and he sways as if to some silent music.

“Kylo?”

Kylo starts walking, and Hux trails behind him, mildly concerned. He’s never seen Kylo go into such a trance before, and he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to allow it, or shake him from his reverie. Hux follows him out of the small yard, and towards the ships that—

That’s her. That’s the _Millennium Falcon_. She’s covered over with a broad tarpaulin, dust-marked and proud under all the battle scars, but the Corellian YT model with her elegant curves is just as striking now as she ever was. Hux can almost feel the waves of history breaking around her profile, and he trots a little faster as Kylo walks up and to the open…

Why is the ship’s gangway open? 

“Kylo…” he grabs at his shoulder. “Kylo, it could be a trap.”

“It’s not. Can’t you…” The Knight turns, and frowns down at him. “You can’t feel it?”

“If it’s a Force thing, no,” he reminds him with as little snark in his tone as he can manage. “As you well know.”

“There’s someone here…” Kylo looks back at the ship. “Hux, it’s not… it’s not Dark.”

“Okay.” He has to trust him in this respect, because he’ll never understand the Force. Still, he pulls his side-arm out and ready, keeping it by his side, but quicker to use, if the need arises. It’s a compromise of sorts.

Kylo leads the way onto the ship, and there’s clunking noises deeper in. Hux doesn’t like this one bit. The ship smells of long misuse, and her insides are dark and foreboding, but Kylo knows it like he knows his own body, slipping through corridors and leading them to—

“Poe?”

“Hey! Kylo! Hux!”

Hux watches in shock as Poe launches himself first at Kylo, then at him. There’s brief, manly patting and hugging, and then the pilot bounces back. He’s most surprised to see Poe, but then there’s someone else, too.

“You know these people?”

“Sure I do,” Poe answers her, his voice bubbly and light. “Rey, this is Kylo, and this is Hux. They work with me for the Resistance,” Poe explains. “And guys, this is Rey. I met her here.”

“Rey…” Kylo lets her name linger, and he won’t stop staring. At all. Which is not nice.

Doesn’t Kylo know that staring at people – girls or otherwise – is rude? And why is he so obsessed with her? He’s only just met her, and she’s barely anything to write home about. 

“Yes?” she asks. 

She’s obviously a scavenger of some kind. That’s the principle trade on a planet like this, one without any real industry, but a wealth of downed Imperial and Rebellion craft. Long, long ago a battle waged above this planet, and nothing much has happened since. 

“Rey’s trying to get the _Falcon_ working for me, and – oh, hey, since you’re here, maybe you can help, too?” Poe asks.

“…we came to save you,” Hux blurts out, and feels stupid the minute he says it. “I suppose you don’t need saving, then?”

“Well, kind of.” Poe scrubs a hand through his hair. “I found Tekka’s village, and he gave me the map. But then the First Order appeared, and they blew up my ship.”

“Hence not calling back,” Hux muses. That makes sense. “So you have the map?”

“…I put it in BB-8.” Poe winces, his eyes creasing in pain. “And I told him to run the other way.”

Oh, yes. A pilot was never anywhere without their astromech, excepting the most dire of circumstances. It made no small amount of sense, but that did mean: “You have no idea where your droid went to?”

Poe shakes his head. “I don’t. I told him to run, and I headed back this way. Figured he could hide easier than me, by going into low power mode if it came to it.”

“So I’m helping him fix his ship,” Rey says.

“Ah… ‘his’ ship?” Hux looks over to Kylo.

“Well, technically it’s the boss’ husband’s ship,” Poe clarifies.

“Yes. And he’s here.” Kylo takes some small measure in drawling that out, Hux notes. 

“Han Solo’s here?” Poe’s eyes go wide.

“Han Solo? _The_ Han Solo? The smuggler?” Rey puts down the tools she was using, looking around at their faces. “Wait… is this–?”

“The _Millennium Falcon_ , yes,” Kylo replies, with a wry curve to his lips. “And I’m his son.”

“ _The Millennium Falcon_? The ship that made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs?” Rey’s eyes are wide with interest, and she glances between them rapidly. Hux almost feels pity for her, not knowing the legacies she’s surrounded by. Maybe not even understanding the true significance of the deckplates she’s standing on.

“Twelve,” Kylo corrects her. “And yes.”

“Wow. She’s… she’s a legend.”

“And she’s going to get us off Jakku,” Poe says, sounding smug. “Just as soon as we find BB-8.”

“Don’t you know?” Kylo asks Rey.

“…know what?”

“That—”

There’s a sudden shake of the vessel, then, and everyone grabs for the nearest strut or joist. It’s weapons fire, and that’s never a good sign. Hux can only deduce from the fact they’re all still alive that it’s a small vessel with a low payload, or they’d be melted goo around about now.

“They found us,” Poe says. “Rey… can you get her going?”

“I can try,” she replies, running towards the cockpit.

“Wait… what about my father?” Kylo asks, alarm colouring his tone as everyone starts to move.

“We can rendezvous with Han when we’re not being shot at,” Poe suggests. “Can you two man the guns?”

Hux has rudimentary gunner’s skulls, but nothing special. But he’s probably not as useful in the cockpit as Poe is (okay, definitely not) so he nods. “Yes.”

“Come on… move it, people!”

***

Hux slides through the shifting gravity to leap into the dorsal battery, pulling on the headset and grabbing hold of the controls. He tweaks the joystick gently, and feels the way the whole unit responds like a flame guttering through the breeze. It’s a little unsettling, and then there’s a roar as the freighter’s engines push up and off, the kick of inertia fighting their forwards momentum.

He swings the sights around, looking for the enemy vessels, and sees several TIEs roaring through the hot air. Those things are fast as hell, but if you catch them right, they go up like paper under a flashpoint. (He should know. He’d once known every last specification of every model, all their weak-spots, all their strengths.) 

“I’ll watch our six,” Kylo’s voice comes through the comms. “And above. You do our nose and belly.”

“Roger that,” Hux says, and starts to slam through the fire-power. For a ship that’s not flown in years, her weapons are still in near-perfect condition. He zips his sights over each TIE, blasting out and cutting through the solar side-panel of the closest, sending it spiralling end over end towards the sand below.

Poe’s pulling the ship through ridiculous turns, banking and flipping and changing up for down more frequently than Hux’s brain can cope with. In the end, he opts to forget what relative direction is, and just shoot in his field of responsibility. The ship becomes the standard for position, and Hux lets his hands and eyes take over. (If nothing else, it means less nausea.)

Another blow catches somewhere, and there’s a voice through the comms. “Hold on!”

That’s not Poe. Why is Rey—

Hux doesn’t get a chance to wonder for long, because all of a sudden they’re twirling left and right through debris, and he stops thinking and starts shooting again. It’s worryingly easy to fall back into it, to pulling at the trigger and sending people sandward. He doesn’t even think about them as people in that moment, too busy wanting to survive to remember there’s a Human pilot and gunner in each ship. 

This is war. This is survival. And he _is_ going to survive.

“I’m taking us up,” Rey says.

Poe’s voice is tight with distress. “No, I need to get to BB-8!”

“Do you want to die, or find him later?”

“He has the map to _Luke Skywalker!”_

Rey is flying. Not Poe. Why isn’t Poe flying? 

“Hux, watch your s—”

Light flashes around the small pod, and Hux is momentarily blinded by it. He swings madly in the seat, trying to fire and realising it’s not working. It’s not working, and he can’t do anything but swivel around and see the fast-flying bits of ships and bolts of ion energy zooming around them. His whole position is compromised, and there’s nothing more he can do.

The ship suddenly roars out of the atmosphere, and there’s a lurching _vwoomp_ as it kicks into hyperspace. The yellow sands give way to endless, white-streak black, and the normal laws of physics cease to apply in quite so fine a detail.

Which means he’s no more use, here, and he climbs out of the gunner’s position and runs to the cockpit, right behind Kylo.

“Why are we in hyperspace?” Kylo yells.

“Did you want to die back there, or not?” the woman asks.

“No, but that’s—”

Rey swivels the pilot’s seat around. “I had to. And if Han Solo is still on Jakku, can’t _he_ get your astromech?”

Poe looks over to them, then the light dawns in his eyes. “You guys got the channel to call Han?”

“Chewie’s still on-board, let me…”

Hux watches as Kylo and Poe get to work, and then turns to the girl. Nothing about this is right. _Nothing_. You don’t just… find a girl and get her to fly the _Millennium Falcon_. And you don’t just escape from First Order forces, and…

Hux levels his blaster at her. “Who are you working for?”

Rey stares up at him, an expression of utter disgust on her face. “Is this how you treat everyone who saves your life?”

“Only Order spies.”

Kylo moves closer, putting his hand up and to Hux’s wrist. Hux does not want to lower his side-arm, and he resists the light pressure.

“She’s not a spy, Hux,” Kylo tells him, strangely calmer than he should be.

“Oh? And how do you know?”

“Because anyone the Order found who had the Force? They brought them before the Leader, and _me_.”

The Force. Her. Why would… Hux lets the Knight push his hand back down, and he thumbs the safety back on to the blaster as he does so. “Is that why you were acting weird?”

“I felt a disturbance in the Force,” Kylo says. “An… awakening.”

“The Force?” Rey’s nose wrinkles. “What are you talking about? You’re… you’re not a Jedi, are you?”

“…not exactly.” Kylo winces at the suggestion. “But sort of.”

“Guys… I think Chewie got my message. I also think Han’s pissed,” Poe says, interrupting them. “He says we need to find a way to get the _Falcon_ off-radar, and he’ll get BB-8 back to the base.”

Hux holsters the weapon. He should have guessed this would happen, shouldn’t he? They’ve somehow lost both Kylo’s father and uncle, and the map, gained a girl and the ship that doesn’t belong to any of them. 

“…You have to take me back to Jakku, though,” Rey says, her expression growing more alarmed. “This was just a temporary thing.”

“We’ll do that when—”

An alarm blares, flashing and screeching through the ship.

“…when we fix the bucket of bolts?” Hux mutters.

He’s surprised to find all three of them glare at him for that.

“What?” It’s true, she _is_ a mess. But she’s the only thing between them and the void, right now, so maybe he should stop insulting her until she’s patched back together.

Rey pushes past him, and Kylo is running alongside her. Poe looks guiltily over to him. “…thanks for rescuing me, by the way.”

“Hey. Now we’re even?” Hux says, and he really fucking hopes so. 


	25. Chapter 25

This really isn’t what they planned. Not in the slightest. They were supposed to bring Poe and the _Falcon_ and the map home, and they’ve only got two of the above, and somehow found a girl, too.

Hux has nothing against girls as a whole. They’re fifty percent of the population (approximately), and not really that different from men. Minor differences in plumbing, slight morphology about their height and build, and a generally higher-pitched voice. Or, as far as he knows, anyway.

But this girl? This girl is irritating him, in much the same way Poe irritates him.  She’s irritating him because she’s just too fucking good, and it’s making him feel bad about himself again. It’s a very horrible part of him that wants to just airlock them both, or demand he’s put down on the nearest habitable planet so they can all go off and save the galaxy without him. 

Because, seriously? She can fix ships. She can fly ships. She has the Force. And what is she, like, fourteen? (Okay she’s probably in her twenties, but he’s most assuredly feeling like a relative failure in her youthful presence.)

Kylo and Rey finish off patching whatever had blown, and Hux sits on the edge of the Dejarik table, taking care not to activate the buttons with his ass. Poe keeps handing them things, when Kylo doesn’t just yank them closer with the Force. He watches as the three of them work smoothly together, and realises just how… out of place he is.

Hux will never be a Big Damn Hero. He’s just not cut out for it. Big Damn Heroes are usually the kind and generous and self-sacrificing types (like Poe), or naturally skilled at everything (Rey, Kylo), and not the kind to get ridiculously jealous, five minutes after meeting someone new, or feel entirely inadequate and insecure for little to no reason. 

Also, this was supposed to be an easy run. Right? Not… this. 

Rey appears out of the hole first, followed by Kylo. The noise has stopped, and so has the smell. This is probably a good sign, as he has never encountered that smell on a ship before, and he would very much like to never have to deal with it again. 

“I have to get back to Jakku,” Rey says, as she rubs her hands over her pale, dusty clothes. 

“Why?” Kylo asks. “There’s nothing there. Not if my father finds the droid.”

Which is when Hux realises Kylo is completely missing the point. Kind of tragically, actually. For someone who can read minds, he’s sometimes really rather stupid, isn’t he? Or… maybe distracted is the right word?

“Why is Jakku important?” Hux tries, attempting a more sensitive tack when her expression goes wounded.

“I’m waiting for someone,” the young woman says.

Oh. And there. She _is_ Human, after all. Unlike Poe, with his endless, boundless, perfect optimism… Rey is crumbling under the surface. And here they are, three men she doesn’t know, dragging her into hyperspace and trying to force her into a war she knows next to nothing about. Maybe he should stop thinking about himself for five minutes, hmm?

“You two… work out where we’re going, okay?” Hux looks between them, making sure they both read his expression closely. “We need to make sure we aren’t followed to the base. We’re a high-priority target like this, which is why we weren’t ever supposed to fly.”

“…it was that or die,” Kylo mumbles.

Hux uses his eyebrows to say _shoo_ , and thankfully the other two take the hint and go up to the cockpit. 

Leaving him with the girl.

_Rey_. She has a name. Rey. And he has to remind himself that she didn’t ask to suddenly get tangled up in this, even if she does, apparently, have the Force.

“I’m waiting for my family,” she says, when they’re gone. She doesn’t come out with it easily, and sounds like she very much would rather she never had to tell him again.

“Okay. When are they coming back? Can we get in touch with them and tell them—”

“No,” she says, her voice a little sharper, her eyes suddenly steely. “I’m waiting for them.”

This does not add up. But then… she’s Force-sensitive, in a galaxy where Force-sensitives have been regularly… “When did they leave?”

Rey’s face turns, and a light flush hits her cheeks. Oh. _Fuck_. Seriously? 

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know. But I know they’re coming back. They’re coming back for me.” 

It’s a lie she’s told herself, over and over. He understands those kind of lies, he’d told himself plenty about his own family, over the years. That it would be soon that he’d be enough, that it would be any day now that he’d make Brendol Hux proud. Would it have been easier to never know him, and never know why, or what he had, instead: a father who he knew for certain didn’t think him worth the air they recycled for him?

Why did parents have to fuck their kids up so much?

“Do you know their names?”

Rey shakes her head, looking away. “That’s why I need to stay.”

“Couldn’t we leave a message for them? So if they did show…”

“No, what if—what if they come and I’m not…”

Hux feels a knot of sympathy, then. He rarely has to use his talents like this, but… it’s not all that different to applying too-much pressure, is it? Applying that little bit less. He reaches over, a very brief touch to her lower arm, then he pulls back. “When they come,” and it’s important, he thinks, that he says ‘when’, “…they will do everything they can to find you. Including check for messages.”

Because if they were going to come back, they would do that. And if they’re not coming back, then it’s moot. 

“I can’t just… leave.” She looks at him with open pleading, begging him to give her the permission she needs to turn tail and run.

Oh, how easy it is to stay where you are, Hux knows. He was there, once. He was there, with black, white and grey bars of legs and arms all around him. Durasteel cages, rules and regulations. You could press against the gaps and stretch desperately through, or you could stay in your rank and file, and pretend it was what you wanted, all along.

“You don’t have to leave for good, but… Rey. You do realise you were wasted, there, right? You can fly this ship, fix her, and… if my boyfriend is right, you’ve got a talent with the Force. Do you think you should waste your life away on a dusty old rock?”

“He’s your boyfriend?” 

That’s her take-away from that? “Yes. Kylo and I are together.”

She smiles, then, and it looks genuine. Hux realises he’s actually not confided that to anyone, yet. Even if people pretty much know on the base, he’s never… introduced them as a couple before, and maybe part of that was because he didn’t talk to people much, but also… well.

Rey didn’t know what Kylo had done, who he had been. She just sees him as Han Solo’s son, and someone who can shoot well, and someone who is with the Resistance. She probably sees him in much the same light, and that’s odd to consider.

“I don’t have the Force, though,” she says, her eyes slanting at him.

“How do you know?”

“It’s… isn’t it all a myth?”

Hux nods at the ship around them. “This is the _Millennium Falcon_. She made the Kessel Run in under twelve parsecs, but she also helped blow up two Death Stars. She saved Luke Skywalker, and Leia Organa. And she belongs to Han Solo.”

“But… Jedi? Kylo said he wasn’t.”

“He has the Force, but… it’s a little complicated.” How did you explain something they hadn’t even worked out for themselves, yet? “But he does have it. He can float things through the air, deflect an ion cannon blast, speak right into your head…”

“Can you?”

“No.” Hux shrugs. “I don’t have the Force.”

Rey seems to think about that for a moment. It is a lot to take in, of course. He’d been suitably curious himself when Leia assigned him to her son, and he still hasn’t asked him for half the demonstrations he’s capable of.

Somehow, it seems kind of… tacky to do that. He’s probably been asked to show off his talents all his life, after all.

“Why do you want me to come with you?” she asks, and there’s an in if ever he heard one.

“…people with the Force, uh…” He is not the best person for this part, is he? To be fair, he didn’t expect to need to do this, so he hasn’t rehearsed it in advance. “They… they’re strong. They can do a lot, for good, or for bad.”

“You think I can help?”

“I’m sure you can. There’s no reason why we’d find you if it wasn’t some… bigger plan, I guess.” Because how else did you explain just walking onto Kylo’s father’s ship and just _walking in on a Force-sensitive, when looking for Luke Skywalker_? Now Kylo’s convinced this is the Force’s doing, and not her being some First Order spy (and really, if she is, she’s the most convincing double-agent he has _ever met, ever_ ), it has to be something bigger. Something… _much, much bigger_.

“To find Luke Skywalker?”

That would be step one, yes, he thinks. “…and the whole… destroy the First Order and save peace and democracy thing, yes.”

Okay. This was easier on Kylo. She’s just far too good-hearted and pure and sweet and kind for someone as jaded as he is.  It’s there in her open face, her hope and that… lack of something he knows in himself, in Kylo… even in Poe. She’s never had to kill someone, never had to make that kind of decision, has she? It’s cruel to drag her into it, when he’d likely have given anything to be left in blissful innocence himself.

However… if they don’t take her, then the Order…

“But you can think about it,” he offers, wheedling. “I’m sure we can get you booked back on a transport… if it’s even safe to go back. The planet will be crawling with First Order for a while, now, and if they find out you have the Force?”

That’s when Kylo chooses to walk back in. “They won’t give you the option to say no, at all.”

Rey startles, and looks up at the Knight. “What do you mean?”

“Force-sensitives that the Order finds? They either join them, or they die. It’s as simple as that.”

Kylo says it entirely matter-of-factly, with no emotion in his tone. It’s that detached, soldier’s view of the situation, something they find easy to slip in and out of.

Rey frowns. “How do you know?”

“…I used to work for them. We both did.”

Maybe Hux would have broken that to her slower, because she definitely looks right back on that edge he’d been walking her away from, her body-language defensive, her face a mask of betrayal. “What?”

“I was… born into it,” Hux explains. “It was my family’s belief that the only good government was one of force – and I mean brute, not… magic-Force. And Kylo… Kylo was dragged to them because of _his_ abilities.”

“And you both rebelled?”

Kylo nods. Just a little, tiny nod. “A very smart person helped me.”

Hux wants to roll his eyes up into his head. Seriously? Even if it’s nice of him to say it, now is not the time for flattery of his boyfriend. (Later.)

“But I’m just a scavenger…” Rey’s hand slides over a wrench to her side, fidgeting with her nerves. “I’m nobody.”

“Nobody is… nobody,” Kylo says. “Everyone can be somebody. And you… the Force brought us all together for a reason. _All_ of us.”

Hux’s brow creases in confusion. He was only really there to help Kylo, and now… oh. He’d gotten Rey talking, hadn’t he? He feels a warm hand on the small of his back, and a trickle of reassurance that could only be Kylo’s thoughts in his mind. He’s still not sure the Force even knows he exists, but Kylo does, and that’s close enough.

“What… do you want me to do?” Rey asks. 

“Help me find my uncle,” Kylo answers. “And… and let me help _you_ keep safe, from _him_.”

“…‘him’?” she asks.

Oh, boy. This is going to be a long story, isn’t it? Hux looks over to Kylo. “Are you okay… or do you want me to tell her?”

Because, other than to himself, Hux isn’t sure Kylo’s ever really talked about Snoke, or what he’s capable of. And it’s a lot to ask of him. He hasn’t even been completely open with Hux. It’s all been smoke, mirrors, deflection and implication. Flashes of memory, and the dark places between words.

But Hux still knows enough to know what that means.

Kylo’s large eyes tighten in pain. “She needs to know.”

She does. Hux nods. “Alright. But if you need to stop…”

Rey looks even _more_ alarmed. “What?”

“Alright. Please, keep an open mind,” Kylo asks. “What do you know about the Force?”

“…I’m going to go out on a limb,” she says, “…and say ‘nothing accurate’.”

Hux wonders how long this hyperspace journey is going to take. Poor Rey. Yesterday, her life made sense. Now… now it won’t. Not really, not any more. He feels for her, and just as much for Kylo.

“Alright. Well. The Force surrounds everyone, and everything,” Kylo starts.

…actually, this might be interesting. Hearing it from the source, for once. Hux settles back, and listens. 


	26. Chapter 26

“Okay, so, we need to get off-grid,” Poe says, when he comes back into the small living area. “This ship is too recognisable. There’s no way we can get to a Resistance base unless she’s fully hidden, or we get her somewhere safe and jump to another ship.”

“How were you planning on that?” Rey asks, frowning.

“…I was going to wait until I knew she could fly before I came up with something,” the pilot admits, a little sheepishly. “I didn’t expect to find someone who could fix the _Falcon_.”

There is an unspoken ‘on Jakku’ there, but no one is impolite enough to say it.

“We had a plan,” Hux feels it is important to say. “Han brought a freighter big enough to haul her inside. We were going to conceal her.”

Before the whole thing with the First Order forcing them into hyperspace thing, which had been incredibly rude of them. He’s still annoyed by that.

“Can we contact Han and arrange somewhere to meet up?” Poe looks over to Kylo.

“We can. It will have to be… uh. It will have to be in code. In case anyone intercepts our transmission.” Kylo rubs at the back of his neck, and shrugs. “I know the old, emergency channel they told me. Way back when. I’m sure they’ll still monitor it.”

Of course they will, now he’s back. Hux wonders how many times his parents checked that over the years, wonders if they broadcast. Did Kylo check it, or just… think about it? The sudden wave of sorrow threatens to break through his composure before he trounces it back down inside. 

“I’ll call them.”

***

Of course Han was on the other side the moment Kylo made the call. Through some code switching, the two came up with a plan, and a destination, and now they’re hurtling through hyperspace towards somewhere off the beaten trail. Somewhere they can slip the _Falcon_ aboard Han’s bigger ship, and finally go home.

The journey is long enough that they can all meander through the ship, and Poe’s done the gracious thing of offering to talk to Rey about the Resistance. He’s practically the poster boy anyway, whilst he and Kylo aren’t.

And also, Hux wants to talk to Kylo. In private. And Poe is socially aware enough to realise that.

Which is why they’re in one of the compartments off from the main ship. Hux didn’t question him when he lead the way, more interested in the distance than the location itself. It’s shielded and padded, and big enough for several crates, or between five and seven Humans and Human-sized people. It was probably a good hidey hole for a small child, way back when. Hux watches Kylo lean his back on one wall, and walk his feet up the other, so he’s wedged between the two sides and happily suspended in place.

Hux simply pushes his toes against the opposite wall, and slides his ass down so he’s locked into a stable position, too. The _Falcon_ isn’t a bumpy ride, but this position means he can hold out for longer, if they have to.

“You want to talk about it?” Hux asks.

“…what ‘it’ do you mean?”

All of it, Hux thinks. “The ship. The girl. The… things you told her…”

A little shake of his head, and then Kylo stares up at the ceiling. “You already knew most of it, I guess. And… I didn’t want to tell her, but…”

“She needed to know what she was really risking, turning away from your help,” Hux points out. “You didn’t have someone telling _you_ all that before.”

“If I had, maybe… maybe I wouldn’t have gone with him.” 

“Possibly, but you can’t change the past, so…”

“Yeah.”

Hux spreads his palms into the cool metal bulkhead, feeling for the ship’s hum. “It gets easier. The longer you’re away from them, it gets easier.”

“If he doesn’t try to reach me again…” Kylo sounds… sad. “If I do… if… if he gets to me?”

It would be trite to say ‘he won’t’, or ‘it will be fine’. Hux has no idea how hard it is to fight someone truly out of your head. It had taken him – albeit non-sensitive – all he had just to keep his thoughts away from the core thing he was protecting. And that had still allowed Ithon to wreak havoc through very painful memories, all the same. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me you’ll… if you can? You’ll sedate me, if you have to. Kill me… if it’s the only way.”

“Kylo, I’m not going to—”

“You might have to.”

It’s possible. Hux knows, on some level, that it’s possible. Snoke is powerful, and he knows the inside of Kylo’s head. He’s strong, and Kylo… has fallen once. He could do so again. “I’ll do everything in my power to get you back safely, but if it’s… if it’s the only way…”

“Thank you.” 

The Knight doesn’t talk again for a moment, and Hux thinks about it. He should probably carry some form of emergency sedative, shouldn’t he? Just in case. He’ll talk to the medic when they get back, and why didn’t he think of it before? Maybe because it feels a bit seditious, a bit… unfaithful. 

But if it means keeping Kylo alive, he’ll do it. 

“When did you know she had the Force?”

“When… when Han was talking to the salvage controller. I could feel something… something I hadn’t felt in a long time.”

“But your Knights have the Force?”

“They use the Dark, almost exclusively. I was the one with the strongest affinity for the Light, after I turned. And… I don’t know. I just felt like I had to see her, to meet her. The Force wanted us to find Rey.”

“I see.”

“It makes things happen, you know. It made us meet.”

Hux frowns. “You think that was the Force?”

“I think it guided my mother, so that you would meet me, yes.”

An invisible, formless, all-knowing power, and it interferes to that level? Hux does find it a little hard to believe, but then… he can’t feel it. Not like Kylo can. “What’s it really like?”

“Would you like me to show you?”

Of course he would. Hux has been sitting on endless reams of questions, too stubborn and too discreet to ask them. He nods very slightly, and then…

Kylo clicks his finger and thumb, and the lights in the compartment all die to nothing. _Nothing_. It’s a smuggler’s cove, after all, and Hux is suddenly left disorientated by the change. Without any kind of glimmer, his eyes see sparks inside his head, and no amount of blinking changes what’s going on.

Then there’s a sound of Kylo reaching into something, and blowing across his hand. Tiny flecks of dust swirl into the air, each one glowing with a light there’s no chance is real. The Knight is making each one fluoresce, and they whirl like they’re carried by air currents… but he realises, with a start, that they’re starting to spin slowly around him, as if on magnetic fields.

“What in the—?”

“It’s impossible to really show you, but it’s a little like this. The glow is in everything, but it’s brighter around things that are alive. And it’s all the way inside, like you’re a glow of your own. It’s…” 

Kylo swishes an arm, and he moves the motes of dust to swirl around himself, instead. This time they’re brighter, maybe more purple-blue than white-blue, and he can actually see the man’s angular face illuminated in them. “In someone who has the Force, it feels different.”

“So your mother looks different to you?”

“Yes. And around her, the patterns take shape, whereas the glow might be as bright around you, but it’s… whirls and gusts. It’s…”

“Beautiful,” he says, realising that the glow isn’t _brighter_ around Kylo, it’s just that the dust motes clump and swarm in bands and groups.  

“I hadn’t felt the Light Side – not like that – in over ten years. I knew the Force wanted us to meet. I wasn’t…”

Ah. “I’m sorry if I upset you with my… jealousy. You just were paying her a lot of attention, and I’m not used to needing to fight for it.” Or wanting to.

Kylo actually snorts. “Fight for it? Hux… you’ll be wishing I paid you less attention, before long. I’m… uh. I’m that kind of person.”

“Well, it might make a nice change,” Hux drawls.

“Honestly, I’ll tell you this over and over, but I’m glad no one knows enough about you, because then I might have a fight on my hands for you.”

That would be the day, Hux thinks. Kylo is possibly the only person who’s ever shown the slightest interest in him, beyond maybe a one-night stand. “I’ve never really been jealous before.”

“Is it bad that I kind of liked it?”

Oh… well, now. “You did?”

“…yeah. It was kind of hot watching you pull your blaster on her because you thought she was a First Order spy… and that I might like her.”

Fuck, he really is that transparent? To Kylo, anyway. “I didn’t know she had the Force! I thought she was going to get us all killed.”

“Like I say… hot.”

Oh, Maker give him strength. Hux tries to keep the smile off his face, but it’s almost impossible to do so. He should have known that Kylo would find his dumb, possessive streak a positive thing, but now he’s glad they talked about it. Once he realised Kylo’s focus on her wasn’t romantic, or sexual… it helped a lot. 

A lot.

“Good, because I won’t let you go without a fight.” 

The swirls around Kylo start to whip faster, brighter, and Hux wonders if he even knows what he’s doing? Is it how the Force really looks and feels to him? Agitated in high emotion, sharper and more attention-grabbing?

“Maybe you should make sure I remember that,” the Knight suggests. “You know. Not that I’m going to run off, but if you did remind me…”

Here? Really?

Well. It’s sound-proofed. They have hours, yet. Rey and Poe will know not to come looking, and maybe only Rey could find them if she knew how to use the Force? There’s no Han, no Chewie, and… fuck it.

Kylo’s face is lit from below by the dancing sparkles, and Hux slinks his weight down so he’s standing properly again, and then deliberately falls forward so his far hand thunks into the bulkhead by Kylo’s face. “Kylo Ren… you’re under strict orders not to flirt with anyone else. Do you understand?”

“I wasn’t,” Kylo blurts, the defensive tone too overblown to be real.

Hux hasn’t really done roleplay like this before, but weirdly, it’s pressing lots of buttons deep down inside. It’s safe, doing it like this. It’s not real, except… it is? He’d pretty much hope Kylo wouldn’t cheat on him, but a little stretch of the imagination and he can feel how angry and possessive it would make him to see anyone expressing interest in his Knight.

Yeah, not too much imagination required.

“No making eyes at them. You belong to me, and only me.”

“ _Ffffffuck, yes, Hux_.”

The bliss in his tone urges him on, and he slaps a hand between the man’s lightly-parted thighs, grabbing roughly at his crotch and curling his fingers tight around the swelling bulge. He uses the heel of his palm to grind, and his fingers work at the fabric behind his balls, twisting his wrist this way and that.

“Who does this belong to?”

“You. Only you.”

To hear him say that sends a kindling heat through him, a balloon blown up inside and inflated with only good sensations. His head swims lightly, his sense of self and his body no longer quite matching up. “That’s right,” he growls. “This belongs to **me**.”

Hux’s hand clamps so tight that Kylo whimpers in pained happiness, his feet scrabbling at the wall to keep himself in position. He’s desperately trying to hump and grind into his grip, and Hux yanks down at button and belt, making the room to push his hand under the fabric and fish his cock out into the open air.

“I’m yours, I swear, I swear, only yours, Hux, _please_.”

It sounds so delicious, so delicious and _right_ to have Kylo promise, and he rewards him with sharp, fierce, dry tugs from his fuzzy balls up to the head, clenching tighter before slamming down again. The air practically tastes of lust, and he feels his teeth glint in the gloaming light. 

“I’m going to make you so happy you never want to leave.”

Which, the minute he’s said it, he realises is the oddest threat ever, and yet… the tone he manages is as menacing as any verbal warning he’s ever used on a mark before. A snarl, and he arches to clamp his teeth on Kylo’s earlobe.

The Knight grabs at his shoulders, yelping in shock, and it’s only a few more tugs of his wrist before Kylo’s spilling all over his hand in an ill-thought-out rush. The glow expands and contracts in a flurry, and Hux lets go of his ear to see the shocked, happy expression on Kylo’s face.

“I promise,” he whispers. “I’m yours. I am.”

Hux lifts his messy hand and swipes it over Kylo’s mouth, and when the man tries to sink to his knees, he holds him up by the hand over his face, gagging him and spreading his come all over his lips. “No.”

There’s a querulous tone underneath his hand.

“Not your mouth. Not this time.” He doesn’t have anything they could possibly use as lube, but… “Drop your pants to your ankles.”

Kylo nods, and then shimmies them down. He looks curious under Hux’s hand, and then laps at the mess belatedly. He can tell Kylo’s still feeling the after-shocks, and that’s half the fun. 

“Hands on the wall. Legs apart.”

He obeys at once, turning his back to Hux in the process. Head turned, looking back over his shoulder. His lips are specked with the smears he didn’t quite get, parted and panting. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

Hux stands behind him, and unzips his own fly. He pulls his cock out, then pushes it to slide between Kylo’s thighs. Two hands urge them to clamp together, giving him something to rut against.

He keeps hold of his waist in this position, then starts to snap his hips, sliding and pushing at his balls, using the not-quite-tight enough friction. They’ve mostly been relying on fingers and lips so far, neither of them quite ready to take the next step. This… is as close as they’ve got, and Hux is mostly testing the water to see if Kylo likes the idea or not.

Hux does. Definitely. Although he thinks if he’s ever going to fit Kylo’s dick in, it’s going to take him a week to recover, but it’ll probably be worth it? Little kisses at the nape of his neck, and Kylo goes soft and pliant under his mouth, but tight and sure around his cock. He can feel him trying to give him the best ride he can, and pride swells up inside him at that.

“You feel so good,” he purrs, kissing at the tugged-raw lobe. “When we get home, you want me to fuck you?”

He might say yes now, and not later, but this is… this is still sort of role-play, and therefore safe to ask it.

“ _Pleasefuckpleasefuckyes_.”

Which is a better response than he’d expected. Kylo’s fingers scratch at the wall, and Hux feels his movements speed up in response. “You want that? You want me inside of you?”

“ _Yes, yes, please, Hux, **yes**_.” 

Inside. Deep inside. Fuck. He grunts behind one ear, the idea of it making his blood _burn_. “Fuck you so hard you shake, fuck you so full my come drips down your thighs. Make you know you’re mine. Make you so sore that every time you _move_ you feel me, still inside of you, and wish I was back there…”

“Please… please…”

“I’m gonna—”

But then Kylo grabs his hand and drags at it, and he realises the man’s half-hard again already, just from the idea of being fucked. He can’t do it now, but that will make it _oh so much better_ when he can. Greedy fingers curl around his shaft again, and he knows it must be throbbingly sore as he fists it, as he tightens his hand into a channel and starts to pound at his ass like he’s almost inside him already.

“ _Love you_ ,” Kylo bleats out, and it’s maybe not the best time to be suddenly confessing it?

But **fuck** does it make Hux’s toes curl. He bites down on the curve of Kylo’s neck, his movements jerky and rough and he only lasts a few more thrusts before he’s spurting, and that seems to trigger Kylo over the edge again into climax. The taller man _keens_ , and his orgasm makes him shake under Hux, makes him tremble and then drop, boneless into the wall.

He loves him.

Fucking hell fire.

This was not how he was supposed to say it, but… now Kylo has, he has to tell him. It’s mutual, and he knows, but he’d thought they might…

“I love you, too,” he whispers, and begs for kisses at the corner of his mouth. 

Nothing about their relationship is ever going to go smoothly, is it? Hux stifles a laugh into his shoulder, kissing the little pink mark better. 

Kylo starts to laugh, too, and then they’re giggling, sweaty, and half-naked and cuddling up against a wall in the _Falcon_ , hiding from the pilot they rescued and the Force-sensitive girl they’ve picked up on a desert world in the middle of nowhere.

“Not how I planned that,” Hux admits.

“Yeah, well, if you didn’t say it soon I was going to go insane,” Kylo replies.

“But you knew, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I knew.”

“Me too.” He holds him tighter, and his chest feels… like a weight’s been lifted off. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”

“…you just made me come twice. I think we’re pretty good.”

“…I meant the whole dating thing.”

“Yep. Still going with good.”

Hux snorts. “Don’t ever change, Kylo.”

“I won’t.”

They will need to clean up, soon, but they can cuddle a moment or two longer. After all, Kylo just came twice in quick succession, and he’s not likely to be walking straight just yet. Even dry as the second round was, his body is a shaking mess in Hux’s arms.

They can wait a minute more. He asks for more kisses, and gets them, in the dark.


	27. Chapter 27

Hux has never heard of Takodana before, but then, it’s no surprise. His formative years were spent on Arkanis, and then hopping from base to base. This place is a veritable watering hole, and he can see as they approach the castle just how vibrant and multi-cultural it is. Flags he can’t even identify unfurl in the wind, and he hears several languages he doesn’t even recognise, let alone understand, when they get into the main building.

Rey keeps staring. It’s a strange combination of provincially cute, and worryingly naive. He knows she’s seen other species before (she has that advantage over him at roughly her age), but her appreciation for the climate and the flora is just… Hux doesn’t know whether to sympathise, to criticise, or to book her on an around-the-galaxy tour with all the credits he has.

Kylo knows exactly where they’re going, so his long strides lead the way through to the cantina proper. Hux follows – only a half-step behind – with Poe and Rey bringing up the rear.

Han Solo (minus Chewbacca, plus one droid) sits at a table with a very short, very orange alien of a species Hux has never encountered before. ‘Maz’, he’s been told her name is. Maz Kanata. 

The droid sees them coming, and chirrups in delight before circling Poe’s feet several times, not relenting until the man drops to pat its chassis in reassurance, and then it whirrs and purrs into line behind them all.

The Knight leads the other three to the table, and a few more chairs are scraped around. Maz looks up at Kylo with open pleasure, the creases around her eyes multiplying tenfold. “My boy… it is good to see you back where you belong.”

“Slowly,” Kylo says, shuffling under the affection. “But I’m trying.”

“You’re a stronger man than your grandfather ever was, to come back and face what you did. No matter whose hands pulled you about as a child, you showed the galaxy you are strong and your own man, now.” Maz leans over, putting a hand on Kylo’s.

“I had some help.”

“But it was your own decision,” Hux reminds him. “Even if I was very persuasive.”

“You must be the boy Han told me about… you were brave, too. Brave to leave your family’s legacy, and to find a cause to fight for.”

Yeah, something like that. Hux shrugs it off, realising now why Kylo’s ears are going pink. Maz’s tone just has that quality of cutting you right to the quick.

“This is Rey, and this is Poe,” Kylo cuts in, mercifully giving him a break. “Poe is one of our pilots – the one who found the map.”

“To Luke? The galaxy is in your debt, Poe.”

“Anyone would have done the same.” Dameron reacts to the praise with a little more aplomb. 

Hux doesn’t even hate him this time around. Progress, no matter how small. His eyes slant to Rey, who… he doesn’t need the Force to know she feels out of her depth, here. Surrounded by people straight out of legend or newsreels. She’d reacted to Han’s name, and now she has to see the family resemblance in the man who keeps staring at her. 

“And the girl…” Han nods at her. “You say she fixed my baby, and flew her?”

“She might even teach me a few things,” Poe admits with some chagrin. 

“Huh.”

Han Solo is even less impressive this time around. The girl’s from nowhere, has the Force, and can fix and fly his beloved ship. Is he really that averse to Force-sensitives? If so, why did he marry one, and—

A knee against his, tapping under the table. A little reminder, and he attempts to reel his distaste back in and under control. It just… irritates him, this cavalier attitude, and the damage it’s so obviously perpetuated against Kylo.

“Rey, did you say her name was?” Maz leans forwards, and then tweaks the lenses on her goggles, her eyes growing comically large, then small, then large once more as she fixes her focus on her. 

“Y-yes?”

“Is that your only name?”

“The only one I know.”

“Hmm.” Maz sits back. “On Jakku?”

She knows something, doesn’t she? Hux turns to Kylo, a question in his eyes. Kylo doesn’t seem to know how to answer it, though. He’s struck with a sudden prescience, and he snaps his focus back to the small woman.

“Is this the Force again?” Hux asks.

“I believe so.” Her tones are soft and warm, like chocolate, velvet, and an open fire. “The Force… it is in all things, moving all things. I do not believe your meeting – all of you – was a mere coincidence.”

“So you’ll help get us back to base?” Han pushes, once again dismissing the Force.

Even if Hux is sceptical, he wouldn’t dream of being so dismissive. After all, the whole point of this mission is to bring back the galaxy’s last, true Jedi. 

“I’ll find you a way back, but…” Maz looks to Rey.

Rey, who is staring off into the distance. 

“Why don’t you and I discuss this, and let the younglings have a well-earned drink?”

Poe gets up first, nodding in gratitude. “I’d love a soda. I’ll go get some. You guys want to come with and tell me what you want?”

***

As they stand at the bar, Hux watches Kylo watch Rey. Poe is probably watching him watch Kylo, but that’s unimportant. BB-8 will, of course, watch Poe regardless. 

She’s tilting her head like she can hear something, and when Kylo looks over at him for reassurance, he nods his permission. Kylo goes over to her, and they walk off together. It’s a bit hard, but it’s a ‘Force thing’, and Hux can’t really help with those, and Kylo isn’t interested in cheating on him, he’s almost certain.

But this does leave him at the bar with Poe Dameron, nursing some fruity, tangy monstrosity that’s an umbrella and a sparkler and some alcohol away from being the worst thing ever created. Hux does have a sweet tooth, but this is obscene. 

It’s also orange.

Does Poe have some kind of sexual paraphilia for the colour orange?

“It’s good to see you two happy together,” Poe tells him.

“It’s also surprising, to both of us.”

“Not to anyone who saw you talk about him, when he was still… you know. In the cells. And not anyone who was there when you brought him out to brief us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You both look at the other when you think no one is watching, and you get that little twitch by your eye, and your smile… see! That’s what I’m talking about.”

Hux’s tells are that obvious? The smile is half grimace of terror. “He’s a very intelligent and complicated man. And… most people would have done what he did, in his shoes.”

“Don’t doubt it for a minute. General Organa’s son was never going to be… you know. Evil.”

Poe does know who General Organa’s _father_ was, right? Or that anyone could go ‘evil’, no matter their background or upbringing or… no, play along. 

“…plus, when you got captured… you should have seen how obsessed he was. I don’t think he slept for three days. I was nearly getting ready to use sedatives on him when we got the best lead.”

“Have I thanked you recently for that?”

“About fifty times this week… yeah. But we’re even, now. Remember?”

Hux does, but he wanted to be sure Poe does, too. Although he has a sneaking suspicion they’re going to end up needing a complex algorithm to work out relative debt before long. 

“Can I ask you a… personal question?” Poe is probably the closest thing to a ‘work’ friend he has. He can absolutely not discuss this with Kylo’s parents, and Major Ematt is not that kind of a contact.

“Sure, shoot.”

“Have you ever… had a relationship with a colleague? Another pilot?”

“Once. Didn’t work out, but that was… personal reasons, not work. Blown off steam a few times, but… I’m not sure how I’d feel about having to be objective if they were under my command. It’s difficult when you’re the leader.”

“But the one you did try… it wasn’t… uh…?”

“We were both lonely, and it worked for a while, but we realised we wanted different things in the end. We parted fine. Still friends now. And if I wasn’t Black Leader… yeah. I might, with someone.”

Interesting. And helpful. Hux nods, though he has a million other questions which he cannot ask, not ever. “Thank you.”

“I think you two will be fine, though. I dunno, I just… I get a good feeling about you.”

Hux pushes at his orange drink, and his lips do smile at that. A tiny curl, and he brushes his hair from his temple, fussing. “What about all this Force stuff?”

“…you know, when I was a kid? Mom and Dad knew General Organa, Han, Luke… they fought with them. Luke brought us this tree home to Yavin IV. Force-sensitive, he said. I used to sit under it and try to feel the Force, but I couldn’t. Luke found me, once, scrunching my nose up and wishing real hard.”

“That must have been embarrassing?”

“In retrospect? Yeah. At the time, I didn’t see a problem with it. I told him what I was trying to do, and he told me we _all_ see – feel – the Force. Just different ways. For me, for Mom: it was flying. We could… we knew how to do it. How to avoid getting shot, what angle to hit a climb at… the Force told us, or… or it made us quick on our toes.”

“You think you fly well because of the Force?”

“Maybe. Could be a kind man trying to make me feel better about myself. Could be the Force is more complicated than just flying _things_ and reading minds. It made me feel better, anyway. The thought that we’re all part of it, but we connect differently.”

Hux likes that way of looking at it. After all… “Kylo showed me… he says he can feel the Force and it’s stronger around people. So even if we’re – uh – colour-blind to it, it’s still _in_ and _around_ us.”

“He showed you? What was it like?”

“Like… you know when they show you the jetstreams around ships, when you’re learning? Like that, but around people. And _alive_.”

Hux finds the wistful light in Poe’s eyes… actually kind of endearing, in an amicable kind of way. He had known from a young age that there was no chance of Force in him, but Poe had been there, wishing away. A simpler time, for both of them. 

“Can I ask a return favour?”

Hux nods, curious.

“You don’t have to tell me, but… why? Why did you leave? Don’t they treat you good over there? If you’re someone’s son?”

He thinks for a moment, formulating the answer to himself as much as anything. His time with Kylo has opened his eyes a lot to his own past, if nothing else. “I think I was tired of not being able to think for myself. Of… the constant re-education. It was never a debate, never… any room for alternative thoughts. I wanted to think for myself. Maybe I didn’t know what I _would_ think, at first, but…”

“It must have been difficult for you to think anything but what they force-fed you, huh?”

A little nod. “Yes. You take a lot for granted, that you’re taught young. But I never felt… right. I always had this sense that I needed to be able to think for myself.”

“You’re a smarter man than most, Hux.” Poe claps him on the arm, just briefly.

Hux does not – for once – flinch.

There’s a sudden change in the air, and everyone turns to see an ashen-faced Rey, next to an equally shaken Kylo. 

And. In her hands.

It… couldn’t be, could it?

“Well… damn,” Poe whistles through his teeth. “Guess the Force really _is_ talking to us, now.”

Because Rey has a lightsaber. And this really does change everything, doesn’t it?


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, it is my birthday and apparently that means I'm forbidden from writing even though it's driving me round the bend x.x ALSO PLEASE SEE END NOTES THERE IS NOW ART!

“…you got one too?” Poe asks, his eyes as wide as Hux’s feel.

“It… it was in a box, and…”

Rey looks troubled, holding the metal cylinder as if she’s worried it might explode. It is a valid concern, even if you know what it is. Kylo’s own blade is likely the only one she’s ever seen, and from what Hux has found out, it’s a wonder it hasn’t taken the man’s hand off already.

“And it called to her,” Kylo finishes for her. “It was… it was my uncle’s. And my grandfather, before him.”

That weapon belonged to Anakin – or Darth Vader? Hux isn’t sure which. Although, if it was a red blade, it would likely be Vader’s. And would Luke have ever wielded a symbol of the Dark Side? Probably not. 

“Pardon my ignorance, but what does that mean?” Hux asks.

“It means,” comes a warm voice from down near his knee-caps, “…that young Rey here needs to find the last man who owned that weapon.”

“I’m… I’m just a scavenger,” she says, trying to push the saber into Kylo’s hands.

Hux watches as warring wants roll over his Knight’s face. A crease between his brows, a tightening of his lips. He wants it, but he also… doesn’t. 

“You’re not. You’re… you can be a Jedi,” he says, his tone bitter-sweet.

“Like you?”

Kylo shakes his head. “I tried, and I failed.”

Maz clucks her tongue in her mouth, then steps forwards. She lifts two hands up, and waits until both Force-sensitives have taken one. “You two… one from the Light, who knows the Dark… one left away from the Light, who wants a home…”

“I’m nobody,” Rey insists.

“You’re anything _but_ , child. No one is ‘nobody’. We all have a purpose, and we all have a gift. We all have things we can do, and a part to play.” 

Hux wonders if she’s talking to him, or if he’s literally just feeling paranoid and borderline useless again. Not everything is about him, he has to remind himself. Especially not right now. It’s just that she has a way of worming her words into your chest, making you feel elevated, a thing to be noticed, a point of order.

Maz frowns. “I thought…”

Kylo shrinks away from her gaze, a little. “What?”

“The Dark Side… it… it has always been… a force for evil.” Maz tilts her head to one side, her magnified eyes slitting to barely there. “But in this case, it may help Rey.”

The young girl looks just as baffled. “Help me? If it’s evil?”

“You must understand what you are fighting, without falling victim to it.”

“Or maybe it isn’t what you thought,” Hux pipes in, before he forgets himself. 

“How so?”

“What if… what if the Dark is just… the Force. I mean, if the Force is so great… why would something ‘evil’ be part of it?” 

“Hux,” Kylo says, warningly.

“No, I’m serious.” If he’s about to talk to a thousands of years old woman about this, he’s going in it with both eyes open and a scream on his lips. “Maybe the Dark is harder to control, or to use it and not turn into a selfish mass-murderer, but has anyone ever… you know… tried?”

“There were rumours of those who called themselves… ‘Grey’,” Maz concedes. “Those who would utilise both sides, without swearing allegiance to either the Jedi code, or that of the Sith.”

“What happened to them?” Kylo asks. 

“I do not know.” Maz lets go of them both. “Perhaps it is something you must find out.”

Which is when Han walks over. “You kids about—”

He sees the saber, then looks up at Rey, then at Kylo.

“Get on the ship.”

His tone is so sure that no one seems prepared to question the command. 

“You know where she has to go?” Maz asks.

“No, but I got a good idea how to find it.”

***

The freighter Maz has given them is smaller than the one Han’s handed over, but still big enough to swallow the _Falcon_ whole. Han, of course, insisted on flying his baby into the maw of the bigger craft, even though a traction unit would work just as well. He’d done a (loudly annoyed) tour of the ship, as fast as he could, before he’d consented to Poe and Chewie flying the ship around them off towards the base. The astromech barely left the X-Wing pilot’s side, and that left them with Han and Rey.

Han, who keeps glancing over at Rey like he thinks she might explode. Han, who grumbles and grunts around and eventually slopes off to the cockpit when it becomes clear there’s more damage than he can ever hope to repair before they get back to base.

Which then leaves Hux with two Force-users, and two lightsabers, and a very large bay that holds the freighter nestled deep in its belly. 

Rey’s eyes flicker over everything, assessing. He wonders if she sees things as what they’re worth? She must have some level of technical understanding to pick out the relevant scrap for resale, and she did fix the _Falcon_ , so…

Her voice cuts the air first. “Do you think those things I saw… _we_ saw… do you think they will come true?”

“Some of them already have,” Kylo answers. “I could tell. They were visions of the past.”

“So the ones of the future?”

Hux is _dying_ to ask what she saw, but it would be rude. Later, he will ask Kylo. Although he’s not wholly sure he’ll be allowed to know it all, for some reason. Just a gut feeling.

“The future is in motion, or so I was always told. What we see are… possibilities. Things that could happen, if we don’t stop them.” His thumb slides over his belt in a nervous gesture. “It isn’t set in stone.”

“And that… that… _thing_?”

“That was him: the Supreme Leader. Snoke.”

She shudders from her bound hair down to her toes, and Hux feels an answering itch in his own body. The tone Kylo uses, whenever he mentions him…

“It showed us things,” Kylo says, a little redundantly. “Things that were, that are, that… could be.”

“Why?” Rey pushes. “Why show me such… terrible things?”

“Because the galaxy needs you,” Kylo wheedles. “It needs you. You can _help_. You can stop that horror from happening.”

“Why not you?”

“Because – as you already know – I’m not… I’m not strong enough to really fight him. I need you, and I need Luke, and… the Force thinks you’re needed. Not just me.”

Rey looks over to Hux, then. “What do you think?”

“I think if a glowing stick shows you visions, either you’re mad, or you should listen to it. And as my boyfriend saw things, too… I’m leaning away from ‘mad’.”

“It’s just… I’ve… all my life, all I thought I was, was… someone’s daughter. Waiting for them to come back for me.”

Parents. Fucking fuck them. Hux feels a little growl in him, and he can’t fight it in for long enough. “You don’t need them to _be_. And take it from someone who tried for years to make his father proud by getting as much power as possible, and someone else—” he nods to Kylo, “…whose father would rather his son had been less powerful.”

She looks at him with shock, but an open mind. He can see that in her very unshielded face.

“You need to be who you are: Rey. Not… someone’s daughter. Rey.”

She’s wearing the saber on her belt, though Hux can see her check it constantly, or jump when it knocks her hip. She wants to do this, but she’s not quite there, is she? She wants to be, and she smiles up at them both. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Hux demurs. 

She still ducks her head before she goes. Obviously she needs some time to think about this, and Hux does not blame her one bit.

***

The trip back to base isn’t a short one, not by the route Han’s plotted. He’s clearly paranoid, as normally he’d take the quickest route between points A and B, or quicker _still_ if there was a way to shave off some parsecs by ignoring normal rules of what was considered safe and sane. 

Which gives Hux some time with Kylo. They won’t need a bunk, but they’ve found somewhere a way off from everyone else. The Knight seems to have an unerring ability to wamprat out these nooks and crannies, and he appreciates it.

“We’re going to have to see my uncle,” Kylo says, staring very hard at one particular rivet. “Aren’t we?”

“You did kind of know that was the end goal, right?”

“Yes, I did, but I also… kind of hadn’t thought about me being there?” Fingers comb through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “Like, him in the abstract. Luke Skywalker. Jedi Master. The Luke you probably know.”

“Or don’t.”

“Or don’t. But I… I remember… I remember before I went to train, and I remember… I destroyed everything. Everything he’d worked for, since he was nineteen. How the fuck do I look him in the eye? He ran _away_ after what I did.”

“Yes, he ran away. Do you really think he’ll want to look _you_ in the eye, after he did that?”

“…what?”

“He ran off because he couldn’t help you, and because – well – I guess he was ashamed? And afraid? Don’t you think _he_ will be as worried, too?”

Kylo’s eyes are wide with shock, and Hux is gratified on some level. He’s obviously not thought about it, has he? Sometimes a little distance is needed. A perspective out of the flames of feeling.

“But I didn’t… and it was Snoke, but…”

“Whoever – whatever – whyever – he couldn’t stop it. And he _ran off_. And maybe you did, too, but you were a child and he wasn’t. And you came _back_ , and he still hasn’t. You both of you need to… talk this through.”

“But you don’t think he’ll hate me?”

“Kylo… he won’t. Trust me, he won’t.” 

The taller man moves, and scoots to sit beside him. Knee to knee, gently increasing the contact. “You know… what you said before? About… your dad?”

A cold, cold balloon inflates inside, but he nods, all the same.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be proud of you, but fuck him. You’re, like… you pulled someone away from _Snoke_. And… and you’re beyond important to me. And maybe I’ll never mean as much to you as your father…”

Hux snorts. “I don’t want to call you ‘Daddy’, if this is where the conversation is going.”

Kylo chuckles, and then kisses his jaw. “No. But I mean… you matter. And I know it’s… I know it’s different. But…”

“Part of me is probably always going to wish he had been proud.” Hux can admit that, here. Here in the privacy of this room. “I can’t just… unflick a switch. It meant a lot, and I… you always knew they were supposed to, didn’t you? That parents were supposed to love you, no matter what. So when they didn’t… you assumed _you_ were wrong, not them.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t, and I—”

Still doing it. Hux slaps his middle finger over Kylo’s lips, shaking his head. “You weren’t. You _aren’t_.”

It’s so, so easy to slip back into that mindset. To accept the eternal, monolithic truth that the Adult was Right. But they’re both adults, now. And the inviolable truth of parenthood is simply that some people provide genetics and not the rest of the package. 

It’s a fight to remember that, to unlisten to the younger voice, to hold onto logic, reason, truth. 

“Does it stop?” Kylo asks. “Can it?”

“I honestly don’t know. It can stop enough for you to live for yourself, but I guess the scars are always there. You just have to remember the scars don’t stop you from doing everything you need to do.”

“You’re wasted on the interrogation floor, you know. I mean… you’re good at it. But you could do other things.”

“Oh?”

“Like talk around fuck ups like me and Rey.”

“Force-sensitive counsellor?”

“Sure, why not. We all seem a pretty fucked up bunch. You’d be in high demand.”

Hux grabs Kylo’s shirt. “Oh, shut up. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes. And I still mean it.” He noses against Hux’s, lips threatening a kiss. “Your father can rot. You’re more important than anyone in the Order. _Anyone_.”

Hux decides kisses are the only way to get him to shut up for the night. Or… no. Wait til they get home.

He doesn’t want to have to talk his way out of canoodling with the General’s son in front of others. Kissing… maybe. Heavy petting? Absolutely not.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had itchy fingers. ALSO see the end notes for the ART <3 There is more to come.

When they get back to base, there’s another crowd of people waiting. Han insists on flying the _Falcon_ out of the larger freighter, and when they all disembark, Hux is surprised by how many people clap him on the back or arms, congratulating him and welcoming him home. Even _using his name_. They act like he’s just as important as Kylo and his father, or Poe.

He didn’t even do that much to bring Poe back. Poe had sprung himself, and was already on the ship ready to escape, but apparently that doesn’t matter, and everyone thinks they’re all heroes.

The girl with the lightsaber doesn’t go unnoticed, either. Leia walks over to her, and – after greeting Poe and his ‘saviours’ – she and Han and Chewie herd her off somewhere.

Poe insists they all go to the bar.

And Hux hasn’t worked out how to say no before he’s pulled along on a tide of orange and khaki, jostled and praised and told he won’t be paying all night long. 

Don’t they know he _literally did fuck all_?

***

Five drinks in, and he’s found a booth off to one side, with Kylo jammed bodily against him as they both cringe back from the morass of limbs and roars and drinking games which involve consuming things much, much too quickly and in much, much too great a quantity. It’s a wonder these guys (and lady guys, do you call those guys?) can even _see_ , let alone fly. 

It’s hilarious, and terrifying, and eye-opening, all at once. Hux watches in delight as Poe and Snap perform some ritual involving running between and around posts, spinning, and then gulping a glass that’s as long as a Wookie’s spine and just as narrow down in record time. He has absolutely no desire to join in with those, but it’s fun to observe from afar with his brandy.

He’s pretty sure he’s on the good stuff. He could have had thirty more glasses by now, but instead he’s nursing them at reasonable speeds and drinking in the ambience to help slake his thirst.

“Hate him a bit less?” Kylo leans in to ask.

“I think so. I mean… it was dumb why I didn’t like him, anyway. Being too nice? What’s wrong with me?”

“No… I felt like that about Uncle Luke. How he never got mad, or shouted, or disappointed. It made me feel bad about myself.”

He can understand that, all too well. “But now… I guess… now I just… he’s like us, you know?” Okay, it is the good stuff. He’s slurring slightly, and canting to one side. How big _were_ those glasses? He pulls it close and peers at it, trying to estimate the volume. “He gets his ship… _thingy_.”

“Blown… up.”

“Yeah.”

“We didn’t.”

“No! We didn’t. We did good. We did real good.” Hux nods, and finishes the slug of liquid fire. “Kylo.”

“Yes?”

“I like you.” In the morning, he will regret this.

“I know.”

“No.” A finger in his chest, the one still holding his glass. No, the other four are. No. Three. One is a thumb. He stares at his hand, then up. “You don’t.”

“I don’t?”

“No.”

“No, or know?”

“What?” Hux frowns. These semantics are hurting. “I _like_ you.”

“We’re dating.”

“I _knowwwww that_.” Geez. “But I **like you** , like you. Like. A lot.”

Kylo’s smile gets so fucking wide it could swallow his head whole, and Hux squeaks at the though.

“I like you, too.”

“We should go home.” Back to their place. That is theirs. For them. And not anyone else.

All of a sudden, there’s a flurry of dark grey clothes and Hux finds himself in possession of one (1) tall, dark, mysterious man. Kneeling astride his lap. Butt pushing the table away to make room, and apparently not caring about the fact that they are in _public_.

He’s a _monster_.

Hux _loves it._

There’s a few wolf-whistles and cat calls, but then the bar leaves them to it, and Hux beams sloppily up at his – well – boyfriend. “Really?”

“Wanted to give you a dance,” Kylo slurs, arms around his neck and a lopsided smile on his face. “Just… because.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you.”

“You really want to…” In front of everyone?

“Relax,” come the brandy-burned words by his ear. “It’s just a dance. Then… then home. I want you to _fuck_ me.”

Oh _shit_. Has anyone heard? The words were right in his ear, low and sultry, but people might have…? He looks over Kylo’s shoulder, trying to see if anyone knows he’s currently hard as a nail and just as ready to be hammered into something. His fingernails claw tightly into the back of his lover’s neck, and he sinks his teeth punishingly hard into one fleshy earlobe. “You think you can just demand?”

Kylo _melts_ at that, his spine going fluid and elastic, buckling as he drops into Hux’s lap and over his chest. He _whines_ , and claws fingernails over the front of his shirt. “ _Please, Hux, please_ ,” he whispers. “Wanted it for so long. Want… want to feel you in me.”

And there’s nothing more sexy in the world than a partner _begging_ for you. Nothing. “Make sure no one sees how stiff you’re walking, or me. We’re going home _now_.”

“Yes, Hux,” Kylo agrees. He rubs one last time over him, and then slips to his feet. 

The bulge in the front of Kylo’s pants is impossible to ignore, and Hux knows his own arousal isn’t going to be much more subtle. He stands (as non-awkwardly as he can), and looks down his nose (okay, up) at the Knight. “Tell everyone we’re going.”

“…they will look if I—”

“Not my problem.” Half of him wants them all to _know_ they’re about to go off and have passionate sex, and half of him just wants to push Kylo to see what he’s capable of. Either outcome has its merits, and only one has any drawbacks.

“We’re going,” Kylo calls to Poe, standing strategically behind a table. “Thanks for the party.”

“Aww, so soon?” Poe pouts, but he’s just being kind as ever. “You two… thanks again. I mean it. And you _are_ coming to Snap’s cook out.”

“Thank you, we will.”

Hux isn’t sure he remembers being invited, but he’ll find out the details later. For now? It’s back to their rooms.

***

Some part of him wonders if drunk is a good time for this? It’s been one of those acts they’ve both skirted around, and although the alcohol is a disinhibitor, it’s also going to make them more likely to be unsafe. Not that they can get pregnant, and they’re both _clean_ , but he might… he might…

“Please. Don’t worry,” Kylo asks, once the door shuts. “I want this. I’ll… say if it’s too much.”

“But will you?”

Kylo nods, that overly-sombre look in his eyes. “Yes. I promise.”

He’s a grown man. He can make his own decisions. And yes, they’re both drunk, but it’s not like they didn’t discuss it before. Hux decides… it’s okay. He can always put a stop to it, too, if he thinks it isn’t working. So.

Yes.

He slides a hand over Hux’s face, over his throat, and leans in to purr against his lips: “Go to the bedroom. I want to watch you strip, and then I want you to get me the lube. I’m going to make you beg before I fuck you.”

“ _Yes, Hux_.”

Holy hell fire. Hux follows him through to the bedroom – slapping his ass when it doesn’t move fast enough – and _devours his lover_ using only his eyes. He plucks buttons slowly out of their fabric hidey-holes, watching as Kylo mirrors the gesture. It’s almost like hands on him, and then it becomes _their_ game to do this simultaneously. Tugging a shirt corner free, exposing a pale jut of hip. Shrugging and shimmying out of a sleeve or two, letting it drop and stay where it falls. Fingers that zig one way, and zag the other. He can feel it almost as if it _is_ Kylo’s hand, not this own. As if he’s touching Kylo, feeling that familiar skin under the patterns of his digits…

It arcs, like… like… lightning. Like a mirror. Like… no. Like when the song parts kick into harmony, or, or, or… or something fucking poetic but he’s drunk and he’s horny and he’s _going to fuck Kylo Ren_. Like. Really fuck him.

He whips his belt out faster, and flings it somewhere far from them. Kylo’s movements are bare fractions of seconds after his, and he shimmies his pants down just as elegantly, kicking off boots and then standing in all his natural, bare pride.

Sharp lines. Soft spaces. The glide of one to the other, under that silver-pale silk. Freckles and beauty spots that flare over his skin like constellations burned into his hide. Thighs that know how to lift and run, a torso sculpted from marble, curving into a chest that you could rest a physical book open in the cleft. Blades of collarbones, and a bounce of hair that begs for fingers. He’s gorgeous, and Hux hopes it shows on his face.

He sees something warming and reassuring on Kylo’s, and he realises with a jolt that his boyfriend thinks similar things about _him_. It’s surreal, and it makes the fucking sun burst in his chest and then there’s no waiting for politeness, he _pounces_ and throws Kylo bodily onto his back on the bed, straddling his hips and kissing him fiercely, pulling and tugging at his hair.

Kylo has no chance to argue as Hux bites at his lips and growls his possessive need right into his mouth, forcing his lips apart to thrust his tongue in deep. Deep, like he’s going to fuck him.

In fact, holding his face still, he takes his practice and thinks loudly about what he’s going to do to that ass, enjoying the hands that can only clutch weakly at him. Kylo’s a boneless, obedient wreck under him, and when he sits up to gaze down…

“ _Please_ ,” he repeats.

“ **Lube** ,” Hux reminds him.

It takes some furtling, but then it arrives, and Hux realises _they are going to do this_. And he’s so fucking excited he might just come the minute he tries.

“How do you want me?” Kylo asks, with some considerable difficulty.

“Pillows under your hips. I want to watch your face.”

That makes Kylo _writhe_ in anticipation, and he’s rolling to grab at them and comply before he’s even done speaking. His hips tilt just _so_ , giving him a view of that lovely, pink landing strip… and his cock curls over his belly like a dragon waking slowly. Hux almost thinks it’s a travesty to touch him, when just his voice can do this.

But he _did_ ask so nicely.

Holding one leg under the knee, Hux moves in close enough to touch. Lube warmed, and rolled over his fingers: sticky and pearly, like oil-slicked water mixed with handcream. It smells nice, but now it smells of _sex_ because of their constant use of it. He rolls it back and forth, making it get increasingly tacky to the touch, and making Kylo whimper in lust. His hands are over his head, arms whipcorded to the headboard as he waits with his limited composure.

“Hux… _please_.”

“Patience. I only get to fuck you for the first time _once_.”

“Your tongue has been in my ass, why is this so h—ahhh!”

One finger in, pushed as deep as it goes. Kylo’s body tenses only for a moment, then he realises it’s enough to handle and gently works him over: tighter, tighter, looser… Hux strokes his thumb around the stretched and plugged hole, alert to every little twitch and hiss of breath. He’s going slow, not ready to trust Kylo really _will_ say if it’s too much. Slow, but as fast as slow is safe. After all, his cock is pulling blood from his thinking head, and it’s not so easy to be sensible when you’re drunk and horny.

Hence the Knight bouncing on his – now – two fingers. Really bouncing. His arms stretched ridiculously, his weight up from his heels and then slammed back down, riding those digits like his life depends on it. Hux almost doesn’t need to work at all, but he parts his fingers and curls them, searching inside for the place he knows will…

Kylo _screams_ , and presses down, his face almost a rictus of pain as much as anything else. He can’t stay there long, pulling up for moments to deal with the stimulation, his thighs so tense Hux could bounce credit chits off them. 

One hand on his belly, holding him down and still, and Hux slips the third finger in. Much as he likes to let Kylo do all the hard work, he _does_ want to get him ready for the inevitable. He wants this, now. Wants to do this for real, and not keep pulling away.

In it goes, alongside the other two, and Kylo babbles nonsense noises. His hole and walls clench him in, working him inexorably, and Hux can’t damn well wait to get in there himself. It feels so intimate, and the lost, longing expression on Kylo’s face…

“Still good?”

“ _Fuck yes.”_

It’s just fingers inside a place not designed for fingers. Or… not really. Even if there’s no reason in the galaxy for that gland deep inside to cause such pleasure and sit so deep. Hux squirms to find it again, watching the slack-jawed bliss, the bend up away from the bed, and the drop – shaking – down again.

Beautiful. And this… so deeply, deeply personal. Kylo trusts him with the places that are so soft and vulnerable, so easily injured, and so inexorably _private_. Fingers spreading and stretching, and Kylo’s eyes are closed as he gives himself over to the contact, to the reassurance. His lips are full from biting, his expression beatific and submissive, and Hux…

He stares. Stares, and tries to memorise this moment forever. To stamp Kylo’s expression deep in a holocore, so he can call upon it when he needs it. To remember the soft, squelching sounds of his fingers, the tang of need and expensive booze, and…

“I love you,” he says, and pulls his hand out.

“ _I love you too_.”

Kylo’s eyes remain shut, almost as if vision would be one layer of sensation too much. Hux takes his own cock in his hand, moving legs around him to get in close. It seems like maybe more words would be a bad idea, right now. Like maybe they couldn’t be enough, and instead he tries to _feel_ his affection and adoration at as loud a volume as he can. The ripple over Kylo’s face, the curve of his lips tells Hux all he needs to know, and he starts to push inside.

It is not as easy as it looks like it should be. Hux knows his cock isn’t much thicker than his fingers, but maybe it’s that he’s got less control of it, or because he’s nervous about hurting him? It takes shallower thrusts, but those grip the head of his cock so tightly he ends up holding Kylo’s waist and shaking.

“C-can move,” Kylo tells him, voice a tiny bit strained.

“I… okay, uh…” Little thrusts, and it gets a bit easier, but it still feels wonderful. Feels like the slickest and most even handjob he’s ever had. Feels so great because Kylo trusts him, and…

“ _Please move_.”

**Okay.**

Hux starts to piston from the hips, ramming hard into him and blinking in shock at the sensation. It’s – it’s – fuck, how have they been too shy to do this before? It feels _beyond_ wonderful, and his heartrate increases exponentially with every second. Their eyes meet, and it’s _done_ , it’s **fucking done** , and he isn’t going to stop, now.

Not when Kylo looks so rabidly desperate at him, when his hands move to grab at hair and shoulders. Hux looses the cannon-fire, ramming into him at full speed as he tries to get them over the edge, and fast. The bed creaks in protest, and Hux ignores it as he rides Kylo for all he’s worth. 

“Gonna – gonna fuck you so hard…”

“Please… Maker, it feels good, Hux… Hux _please don’t st—auuuhghh—”_

Words get fucked right out of him, and Kylo is eroded away from speech, even, clawing and whimpering, enjoying the harsh love and rolling under it like a madman. His hair spreads, his face red, and Hux has never seen anything more beautiful in the whole of creation than his Kylo all lost to desire. Brave, strong, fierce and beautiful… begging wordlessly for more on his cock. Begging to be taken with calls for more, more…

Hux gives it to him, for as long as he can. His dick is swollen, his whole body screeching for release, his blood turned to golden liquid that _hums inside_. Harder, harder, tilting his angle down and fighting for all the control he can keep, the clench and the slickness of it making it difficult to – to – 

He’s going to come. He’s going to come, and he hasn’t even touched Kylo’s dick. It slaps and wobbles between them, and Hux thinks loudly: _jerk it for me_. He doesn’t trust his mouth, and the familiar – harder – pressure builds between his legs, his balls full to bursting, his head full of the rhythm and the noises from below him… _Do it._

Kylo hears the mental request, because his eyes are black holes of shock as he does so, a clumsy fist moving to his groin. Hux watches with open lust at the pretty red shaft being jerked, and drags Kylo one last time back onto his own dick. A grunt, satisfied – no – there’s not a word for how _right_ and _good_ it feels, like… like… finding a reason, or finding air in a vacuum, or… some fucking spiritual bullshit about the Force and… it hits like a blaster-bolt to the back, rippling through him and exploding inside of Kylo.

Inside of Kylo, whose eyes roll up into his skull at the sensation of it, whose hand beats brokenly through messy, fully-felt spurts. Their eyes meet as their climaxes do, and Hux fucking… he’s head over heels for him. He is. This stupid, beautiful, broken thing. This fierce and loving man, with all his Darkness and shadows on his face… he loves him, and he’d love him even _without_ this.

But if this is on the cards, damn fucking straight he’ll take it.

His cock finishes at last, sticky and buried inside, and Kylo’s shaking hand lifts from his over-sensitive prick. There’s quite a bit of mess, but it’s good mess. Really good mess. Sticky and pungent and proof positive of their mutual lust.

And now he’s all but passing out, and he pulls out reluctantly, moving to one side and tugging his Knight into his arms. Tidying up can wait.

“You liked that?” Hux whispers, into his ear.

“ _Fuck_ , yes. Please… again?”

“Later, but _yes_.” Limbs tangling, sleep rising up like an old friend.

“ _Please_ ,” echoes around and around in his head, and is the last thing he knows before he passes finally out. 

Hux dreams of _filthy things_ that night. Filthy.


	30. Chapter 30

Apparently the map Poe and his droid retrieved contained only half a map. Or – no – any map is a full one, but this hadn’t given them all the information needed to find Luke Skywalker. But also, once the astromech projected this for everyone, the old navi droid of Luke’s came to life. He and Kylo missed this, due to getting royally wasted in the bar, and then romping until they passed out. In a way, Hux is disappointed they missed out on something so iconic, but… well. He did just have an incredibly rewarding night, and it means they get summonsed to Casa del Organa-Solo as soon as they’re lucid and dressed.

Rey’s changed into new clothes, clothes she must have had provided for her. Soft, dove greys instead of sand-bleached tans. Not going to win any awards for cheery colours, but other than orange, the faded tones are de rigeur here. The brightest things you’ll see are non-Human skin tones, or droids. 

Still, the girl scrubs up nicely. She looks fresh-faced and worried-hopeful, and her eyes skitter from left to right. She’s probably worried it will all get dragged from under her feet any moment. He understands that, better than most.

Chewbacca seems to have taken a liking to her, and Hux is surprised to see her reply to his roars and groans in Galactic Basic. They seem to converse just fine, and he wonders if it’s a Force thing, or if there were (very hot) Wookies on Jakku? Or did she steal aboard the _Falcon_ and find holos to teach herself?

Anyway. It’s now him, Kylo, Kylo’s parents, Kylo’s Wookie uncle and the girl. That’s what the briefing amounts to. Just them. 

If you can call it a briefing. They all sit around the breakfast bar, Rey nursing her caf like she thinks it will be stolen, and Kylo pushing his fingers through cupboards as if he never left. Hux lets his own drink cool to palatable levels.

“So. Now we need to decide who brings Luke home,” Leia concludes, chairing this informal _breakfast_ meeting. 

Hux could get used to them if they’re done over toast and little pastry thingies. He had cereal at their place first, but breakfast food is his weakness, okay? 

“I’m flying,” Han insists.

Hux nearly chokes on the little bready thing as Rey and Kylo snap eyes together, and then both say ‘no’ at once.

“It ain’t up for discussion. I’d’ve brought his Jedi ass home years ago if I knew where it was.”

“It’s… I do not mean to offend you, Han,” Rey tries. “It’s just… I saw myself flying there.”

“Yeah, and I see lots of things and I have to admit I ain’t getting them, like—”

“She means in a vision,” Kylo cuts him off, mid-flow. “We had visions, when we found the lightsaber.”

“…right.”

“ _Han_ ,” Leia says, warningly.

“You want to know how long I’ve been waiting to tell that brother of yours what he—”

“ _Han_.”

Chewie contributes something, which makes the smuggler turn and snap at him. “Not you, too.”

“I saw… I saw us flying to him. A high place, an… an island.” Rey’s eyes look sad. “I used to think about that when I needed to sleep. I thought it was just a daydream, but…”

“The Force was calling to you,” Leia pronounces.

It’s all so fucking solemn, like the Force is some fantastic, distant, unfeeling thing. Like they should all bow their heads respectfully whenever the F-word is used. Hux doesn’t appreciate the weird reverence at all. It’s the fucking Force. People exist just fine not thinking about it all the time, and—

 _Calm_ , he tells himself, and licks the sugar traces from his thumb.

“Rey can fly,” Kylo points out. “We both need to go, but she can fly us.”

Leia, Han and Chewie all share _Looks_. Hux tries to pretend he doesn’t see. He’s feeling very much like an—

“And you have to come,” Rey tells him, out of nowhere.

“…why?”

She can’t want him there to tame the savage Kylo, because the savage Kylo has been pretty much house-trained now. 

“I just… I think you should come.”

Kylo nods. He also thinks that, but it’s less of a surprise. 

Hux dabs at the corners of his mouth. “Alright. If you’re sure…” And then he realises, too, that he was just prepared to let Kylo go off with the girl.

And he didn’t feel the slightest bit concerned that Kylo would suddenly find her more attractive or appealing than him. That makes him smug underneath it all. “When do we leave?”

***

The ship they’re given isn’t much to look at, but Hux knows that’s a lie. She was clearly designed as a basic light mining vessel, but over the years she’s been retrofitted as a troop carrier, with her factory-provided rock-cutting tools amped up to be effective against hulls and shields. There’s space for a lot of people, but only if they’re prepared to sit or stand and do little else. A small ‘fresher, an even smaller kitchenette, and the cockpit is the main thrust of the whole craft.

He isn’t skilled enough to know for sure (the other two probably do with their eyes shut), but he suspects the rumbling purr below them has been amped up, too. Mining craft were never normally built for speed, but the Resistance has to make do and mend with what she has available.

Plus, this can still fly covertly. The _Falcon_ can’t, and an X-Wing (whilst only fitting one soul aboard) always raises eyebrows. 

As Kylo can’t fly to save his life, Hux is the de-facto _co-pilot_ , which mostly means sitting there. He can handle this craft, but he doesn’t have the same flair for it that Rey does. Also, it means he gets to just sit and rest, his seat whirled so he can speak to them both at once.

“What… what do I call him?” Rey asks.

“It’s traditional to call a Jedi Master… ‘Master’. Master Skywalker, if you don’t know him well, and Master Luke if you do,” Kylo answers.

“Is he going to be upset to see you?”

Kylo shrugs. “We’ll see.”

“Not long to wait,” Hux points out, skimming over the readouts. “We’re almost in orbit over the planet. Will you know where to go?”

Rey nods. “I already do.”

***

This planet – nameless and blue-green – curls below their engines. Rey flies them low enough that they’re under cloud-cover, but far enough not to disturb the lightly choppy body of water below. 

An island, she’d said. An island.

It stands proud of the world, a jagged tooth of defiance and sharp edges. Rey takes them all the way to the base, and nestles the ship at the widest part of the land.

They’re about to disembark when a series of bleeps and bloops and screeches catches everyone’s attention.

“R2?” Kylo moves, stooping down to the astromech’s level. “You snuck onboard?”

Hux knows enough binary to know what the response was, and from the stifled giggle, so does Rey.

“You… fine. You still able to do stairs?” the Knight asks.

Sassy to the end, the droid lifts on dual jet burning vents, wobbling through the air. He lands, waddles from leg to leg, and demands he come along.

“How come he got onboard without you knowing?” Hux asks Kylo, as Rey gently guides the old astromech down to the rocky floor.

“Droids. Can’t sense their thoughts in the Force. By the time we’d hit hyperspace, I knew something was off. It felt like something his shape and size. Figured it would come out when it was ready.”

“…and if it had been an enemy droid?”

“It wasn’t.”

“But it could have been.”

“And it wasn’t,” Kylo says, tragically missing the point. 

There’s no arguing with him when he’s like this, so Hux makes a point of order for himself to discuss it properly later. In the abstract, not the specific. Might be easier that way.

The – temple? – is in a strange state of disrepair, but the stones that cleave together through sheer force of gravity and inertia, and nestle into the grassy flanks seem to hold their weight enough. Rey leads the way, fussing over R2 to distract herself. Hux is glad he put his rougher boots on, because the ascent requires a little footwork, and he doesn’t want to fall on his face and look like an idiot right now. Not ever, but especially not right now.

Fingers glance against him occasionally, and by the top of the climb he’s feeling the burn in his calves. Not unbearable, but definitely there. R2 chirps in an abrasive tone, his central unit swivelling around impatiently. 

“Are we…?”

Kylo and Rey both nod yes, and then Hux holds back. He follows them as they walk, but it’s Rey and the droid who approach the man in robes the colour of broken rocks. A chirping salute from R2, and he turns. One mechanical hand, and one organic one pull back the cowl to reveal a face more haggard and worn than Hux expected. His face is a mass of grey, wiry hair, his eyes tired, his lips pressed tight. It’s not a greeting of joy, and it isn’t an instant rebuttal.

And – now he thinks about it – Luke _did_ come here to hide. And they _have_ just broken into his island of solitude, and _perhaps_ they should have asked themselves how to approach this, rather than assume the map meant it was time.

Rey holds out the silvery hilt, business end pointed towards herself, waiting for him to accept. He doesn’t move straight off, and the air is thick with salt and history.

Which is when it hits him. _Luke. Skywalker_. He’s internalised Kylo’s heritage, and broken bread with his parents. But Luke is a _Jedi_. The only Jedi, because Kylo refuses the title most vehemently. The weapon Rey is holding is her way into this, and it’s just – shouldn’t there be swelling music? Some sense of how important it is? In the holos there’s music, but right now there’s just a bizarre sense of grandeur that sends little ripples of ice-cold down his spine. A moment, a point of balance, a fulcrum and a pivot and… 

“I was hoping you would come.”

Just like that. Normal words. No The Force Is My Vision And My Astromech, no… it’s sort of anticlimactic. He wants to yell ‘Is this it?’, but that would be rude, and – _oh shit –_ Luke Skywalker is **looking at him and does he know what he’s thinking?**

“They tell me… they tell me you can help me,” Rey says. “Can you?”

Luke paces closer, his metallic hand coming to rest on his old astromech. A gentle pat, and then he looks up at her. “I can help you, if you’re ready to learn. I have been waiting for both of you.”

“Uncle, I—”

Luke walks closer still, and he’s a real person. No matter what his past, he’s _real_. “I’m sorry,” the Jedi says, and comes forwards. 

Hux tries to look elsewhere, not really sure he should intrude on such a private moment. The two men embrace, and…

Fuck. He can hear the barely-there sounds of crying, and he’s _pretty_ sure it’s just Kylo, but then his own face is threatening with a thunderstorm of its own, and he looks down to see a small hand take his.

Rey. She radiates compassion in his direction, and he squeezes her hand in return.

She knows, because Kylo told her. He told her almost everything. She knows what this means to them both, and he hopes she doesn’t feel like she’s being ignored. But… she won’t, will she? No, because she’s not got that Hero Complex element that insists she has to be The Most Important. She’s got the opposite, and… wow. Okay.

Humbling, to realise it. A Force-sensitive, a Jedi-in-potentia, and she is sure she’s nothing. And he, who is probably nothing, and who wants to _be_ something. This is wrong, and yet…

“It’s going to be okay,” Rey tells him.

 _Comforting_ him. Comforting _him_. Without any hope for reciprocity other than to return his own kindness, and a kindness he’d given without any real aim for a response. It’s… is this how it feels to be altruistic, and to be part of the ‘good’ team? Because it’s nice. Really nice. His comfort hadn’t been given with strings, or with the hope to engender anything other than her reassurance and assistance for the cause. It hadn’t even come to his mind that he could leverage it, but here he is, receiving in kind.

The two other men speak in hushed tones together, and then they pull slightly apart.

“We’ve got a lot to discuss,” Luke says.

“We have a ship,” Kylo reminds him. “We can do it—”

“It isn’t time for me to leave here, not yet,” Luke demurs.

Hux doesn’t believe his ears. “Wait, _what_?” 

“We have a _lot_ to discuss,” Luke says, and waves to a collection of piled rocks that serve as a low table and seats.

They came all this way, and Luke _still_ won’t come home?

“Uncle…”

“Please,” Luke’s voice is firm. “Sit with me. I have much to tell you, and much to teach you both.”

If he thinks they’re going to fucking leave him on this blasted island in the middle of nowhere when the galaxy is being ripped apart by a fuckhole who thinks it’s fine to use children as weapons, then—

“I’ll help,” Luke cuts through his internal diatribe, looking right at him. “But you _must_ listen to me. I have sought the wisdom of the Jedi of old. There is a plan.”

Hux isn’t really in a position to argue, so he waits for Kylo to sit, and does so himself, too.

This better be fucking good. Hux already doesn’t much like Jedi anyway, which does make him wonder why Rey thought it was good to bring him. Maybe because no one else would call him on his banthacrap.

Rey sits, cross-legged, the saber back on her belt. Kylo keeps himself close to Hux, and Luke comes to sit on their level. It’s like a damn gym lesson or something.

“I realised,” Luke starts, “…that I could not defeat Snoke alone.”

No, Hux thinks. Or he’d be dead by now. Still. Arms folded, he listens. 


	31. Chapter 31

Rey and Kylo both flinch when Luke admits he can’t defeat Snoke, their responses telegraphed and amplified. Hux doesn’t know why Kylo is surprised by it, but he can get why Rey might be holding onto hope that finding Luke will suddenly fix everything that’s wrong in the galaxy. 

Kylo… Kylo has to know that Luke’s _failure_ to protect him, and his retreat from society is due to his inability to fix the larger problems facing everyone, right? (No, Hux thinks. That’s assuming he can be logical and think through the fog of what happened to him, and to reflect back on his childhood with a rational mind.) 

Rey takes it a little better, her knees pulled to her chest, her chin dropping on them to listen. 

Kylo just looks like he could scream, and Hux watches the uneasy truce fray at the edges. The air gets suddenly thick with foreboding tension.

“I can’t defeat him on my own,” Luke says again, “…but between us, we can.”

“I can’t fight him, Uncle Luke,” Kylo blurts out. “You have to come back.”

“No… I need to train Rey.”

Rey squirms, obviously uncomfortable with this. “Can’t you do that back with everyone else?”

“It will be much easier for you to focus, here.”

“Like that worked for me,” Kylo snaps, his tone sharp with pain.

“No… it didn’t. But then, I didn’t know enough to help you, and I’m sorry. But Rey here… she has not had the same past as you.” Luke’s eyes fill with sorrow at that half-admission.

“Why can’t we go back?” Rey pushes, again. “I don’t even know if I want to be a Jedi.”

“You don’t have to be one, but… I would like to show you what it means. To give you some knowledge of control. And then… I would like my nephew to teach you what I cannot.”

Kylo _does_ stand, now, horror on his face. “I’m not going to show her the Dark Side!”

“I would like you to,” Luke says, again. He’s trying very hard to keep his voice calm and level.

Hux wonders what pipe he’s been smoking, here on his own. Maybe this is reverse psychology, or maybe he’s gone crazy with only rocks for friends.

“I’m not going to—”

“I made a mistake – we all did – in hiding from the Dark, Kylo. It is out there, isn’t it? Even if we try to destroy it… we can’t. It’s part of the Force, and you cannot destroy the Force. When your mother asked me to help you, to… give you the ability to control yourself, and find some peace. That was what I tried to do, to keep you safe. It didn’t work though, did it?”

“Evidently.”

Hux does not blame him for the tone of his voice, but he also can tell Luke is trying. “What are you wanting from Kylo?”

“I want him to show her what the Dark _is_ , what it is capable of. And how to fight back when someone tries to control you.”

“ _Which I somehow know_?” 

Kylo’s eyes flash with anger, and Hux stands to try to calm him, a hand on his wrist, trying to break through the sheen of rage. 

“You know more than I do.” The Jedi’s voice never angers, his tone one of infinite compassion.

And – for a moment – Hux _hates him_ , and he realises it isn’t his own hatred. Not like it was of Poe, and not like it (briefly) was of Rey. This is Kylo’s rage, either projected or understood. This is the rage of a disappointed child, who looked to an adult for guidance and was forced into being the responsible one instead. The ferocity of it is a punch to the gut, and he sees Rey looking worried between the three of them.

Kylo is fuming. “ _I’m not—_ ”

Hux touches Kylo’s arm, and is ready for the whirl of anger in his direction. “Kylo.”

“ **No**.”

“Kylo,” he says, again, and grips his wrist. He turns his head to Rey, and Luke. A little nod of his head, and the two get the picture, giving them space.

The Knight does wait until they’re gone to continue, his lips curling back in an angry sneer. “I’m not a fucking performing animal, and he thinks I can just magically fix what I couldn’t for years, and show someone else how to do it? He fucking wants to pretend he can teach me, give up, then demand I do all the work like I’m somehow – _now_ – magically fucking wonderful?”

“Kylo… he tried, and he failed. He just admitted it.”

“Yes!”

“ _You_ know what Snoke is capable of. _You_. Not Luke.”

“And? I’m supposed to be happy that – fifteen years later – his answer is still: ‘I don’t know how to help you’?”

“No, but it’s an honest answer. He _doesn’t_. He _tried_. And I’m sure he’ll still try, but he’s admitted that _you_ are the expert, and _you_ can help Rey, in ways he can’t.” Hux puts a hand on each arm, facing him square on. “You want to help her, don’t you? You don’t want anyone to go through what you went through?”

“He’s a _Jedi_ , Hux.”

“Yes. The only one. And he doesn’t know how to do everything. What training did he have?”

“…he trained with Masters Kenobi and Yoda, two of the strongest Jedi ever.”

“And those two – Kenobi, Yoda – did they manage to defeat the Sith?”

Kylo’s cheeks turn pink, and his head averts. “No.”

“Who did?”

Even though this was supposed to be private, it’s Luke who answers: “Anakin Skywalker. I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength to face Palpatine and survive. My _father_ was the only one strong enough to do it.”

Kylo whirls, hand towards his hilt, and then he stops. “You didn’t protect me.”

“No. I didn’t know how deeply his influence was on you, and I didn’t know how to defeat the Dark he wielded. The only way I could save my father was to be tortured in front of him, and refuse to break. It was his _love_ that brought him back, and gave him the strength to defeat the Emperor.”

“So I should let Snoke torture me?” Kylo growls out.

“No… you should show us how to resist, and how to fight back. The Light cannot destroy the Dark. The Dark cannot destroy the Light.”

“What does that even _mean_?” His boyfriend is getting increasingly agitated, and Hux understands entirely.

“It means we don’t try to destroy either. We try to destroy _Snoke_ ,” Rey’s voice pipes up. “Not the Darkness. But the monster.”

“I thought that increasing the Light in you would keep the Darkness – Snoke – out,” Luke goes on. “But it didn’t. I was fighting the wrong battle, using techniques that hadn’t worked for Anakin, either.”

“So… I’m just… stuck with this?”

“Kylo, I have seen visions of your actions. I have felt them, through the Force… can you not already tell you are learning more than I could ever teach you?” Luke smiles, bitter-sweetly. 

“That’s a terrible way to duck your responsibility.”

“I know. But a man must also admit when he cannot do something, as you did when you realised you couldn’t fight Snoke. You _are_ responsible for what you did, but you are not to _blame_. Kylo… I am **sorry**. I am not the man who can teach you, but you also must know that Snoke isn’t, either. _You_ are the strong one. You are the one who will see through the gaps in us, and grow despite us.”

Kylo wavers, and Hux steps back to let him. “I don’t know _how_.”

“But you _can_. You can. You are stronger than you realise, and you know more of the Force than I ever did. Help Rey. I can teach her as a Jedi, but you can teach her the things _I cannot_. And she can make the decisions of her own.”

“…when we spoke to Maz Kanata – do you know her?” Hux asks, waiting for Luke’s nod. “She said there were… people who called themselves ‘Grey’?”

“I have read very little about them, as most of the teachings of the Jedi were destroyed, and the Grey Jedi were even less known,” Luke admits. “But I came here to… meditate. To improve myself, and understand where I had gone wrong. To see how I could make things right.”

“Do you think it’s possible? To… to be Dark, and not be evil?” Kylo’s eyes beg for his approval, his lips pulled in tight and thin in fear.

“I think that’s how Anakin Skywalker died. He saved me for _love_. The Jedi would still say it was wrong, because it was an act of emotion, compassion, and _attachment_. And how could that be evil, or wrong?”

Fucking finally, Hux thinks. “So you want to let Rey learn both, and… let her make her own mind up, with all the information?”

“I think it’s time we didn’t try to put our own rules on the Force, but _listen to it_ instead,” Luke agrees. “B—” He stops himself, almost using the wrong name, but remembering. “Kylo will tell you the same, but… when I was training with Yoda, I had a vision.”

This is obviously for all of their benefit, so Hux nods.

“You saw my parents in danger,” Kylo remembers.

“I did. Master Yoda thought I should remain and finish my training. I didn’t, because I loved my family too much. It did result in…” he lifts his enhanced hand, “…a defeat that almost killed me, and a very, very hard lesson… but I would do it again. I would try to save them again. We have to try things differently, or we’ll forever be locked in cycles of Light against Dark.”

“Balance,” Rey says, suddenly. “You need balance. Not… one or the other.”

“Grey?” Kylo asks. “As in… shadow? Light **and** Dark?”

Luke smiles. “Yes. That is precisely what I mean. I will teach you all I know, and then Kylo will teach us what _he_ knows. And you…” to Rey, “…you will teach us what it is to be new to all of this.” 

Well, they do have to do this prepared. That makes some level of sense.

“So we stay here?” Kylo asks.

“You and Hux can leave. I will – if Rey consents – teach her, here. I came on a ship, and it is still functional. We will come to join you, when we are ready.”

Rey glances up – almost for approval – before she remembers it’s her own choice to make. “I’ll stay.”

“Then what do we do?” Kylo asks.

“We need to know what we’re up against, and how we get to Snoke. He shields himself well, he always did,” Luke answers. “If you can find where we get to him, then we can all go together, and end him for good.”

Hux looks at Kylo, trying to read the expression on his face. It’s complicated, and he knows (and understands). 

“Do you two want some time to think about this?” Hux asks, making a deliberate attempt to give them space.

Rey’s nose scrunches, and then her jaw sets. She’s decided. “We have to stop that _thing_. And if this is the way the Force – and… you… think?” Her question covers both himself and Kylo.

Hah, she values his judgement? 

“If you… if you are okay with it,” Kylo says, picking over his words delicately. “The Force wanted us here, we both saw that. We didn’t know what came next.”

“I think you’re intelligent enough to make your own mind up,” Hux adds, “…but also that sometimes, listening to someone with experience is a good thing. As long as you do it critically.”

“There’s no chance she won’t,” Kylo adds, with a little smile.

Hux stares at Kylo in a _now would be a good time to read my mind_ kind of way.

Which, thankfully, his boyfriend gets.

_Yes?_

_Are you definitely okay with this?_

_Can you fly us home?_

_Yes, why—oh. Yes._

_Then I’m okay._

“Are you sure your ship still flies?” Kylo asks.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll make sure it does,” Rey answers for him.


	32. Chapter 32

Hux _can_ fly, but not… combat flying. Not smuggler flying. Normal person flying, he guesses. He had been given the First Order’s lessons way back when, but he was never supposed to need to use them except in an emergency. TIE pilots are expendable, and lower ranks fly shuttles, and the Officer Classes were _flown_.

But he can lift, break orbit, plot a jump, land. All the basic things. Enough to lift them from Ach-To, and enough to put the ex-mining vessel back into the swimlane of hyperspace.

And then sit with Kylo in the cockpit, stunned.

Never did he ever expect he would be there – face to face – with the last Jedi Master. With _Luke Skywalker_. Even when he’d been Brendol’s disappointment, he’d never have expected his rise through the ranks of the Order to take him face to face with someone so… important. 

His hands shake just slightly, and he sits on them.

“So. Now you’ve met my whole family,” Kylo drolls. “Still want in on it?”

“It’s not them I want in on,” Hux replies, before he thinks it through.

Kylo takes it non-sexually, though, which is what he intended. Hux sees the sudden, bright smile (small, but genuine), and feels his own body respond in kind. It is true. It isn’t a legacy or a title or a name he’s interested in, when it comes to ‘them’. He likes Kylo, and Kylo is… it just happens that he’s related to almost every Big Name ever. If not by blood, then by adoption.

“I still don’t know how we’re supposed to find the Leader. He never even let me close for long when I was his trusted pupil.”

Hux bites his lip, then… “Do you think… do you think you could conceal from him, now?”

Kylo’s brow tightens. “Why?”

“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t that be a way in?”

“I can’t, Hux.”

“…okay, I just—”

“You remember Ithon?”

Of course he fucking remembers Ithon. And what he did. He still has nightmares, at times. He waits to see what Kylo wants to say, though, knowing his expression answers the question.

“If you thought he was bad… imagine it multiplied a hundredfold. Imagine every thought, every moment…” 

“He isn’t in your head right now.”

“And I don’t know why, and I don’t want to tempt fate – or the Force.” 

Hux runs a hand over the back of his neck, and thinks a little more. It’s a tricky situation indeed, and a treacherous part of him wonders if Luke gave Kylo this unenviable task because he can’t do it himself? 

“Don’t we just use… him?”

“Him?”

“If Snoke wants the Jedi gone so badly. When Luke comes back…”

“He will want him dead, at all costs,” Kylo agrees. “So you want to use _my uncle_ as bait?”

“It’s the only sensible course of action.”

“…and what do we do while we’re waiting for him to be ready?”

“You know… I think we could do a few useful things. If you’re interested, that is.”

“Useful… how?”

“The Order has a lot of ships, bases, supply lines, troops…” he trails off, then looks up, catching the expression and trying hard not to smirk.

“Hux, are you suggesting a two man sabotage operation?”

“Are you interested?”

“Does a Bantha shit?”

“…most things shit, Kylo.” But he knows what the intent is. “We could do a lot.”

“…are you sure it’s what you want to do?”

“What I really want to do is walk up to the Supreme Leader, shoot him in the groin and then the head, and then find somewhere nice to settle down with you and maybe work out a way to make our own brandy?” 

Kylo looks… drawn by that, and his hair falls into his face when his head tilts. “You would?”

“Yes, I’d shoot him.”

“The other thing.”

Ah, yeah. “Well, when I’m too old to go around shooting things… or there’s nothing to shoot?” Not that he shoots that much, but the principle of the thing is the same. 

Kylo moves, suddenly, and stands in front of him. Hux looks up as hands grab his jawline and tilt his head upwards. It’s weirdly heavy, like the air is thick, or gravity increased. He’s pretty sure he didn’t lean on any buttons, but when those beautiful lips grace his own, he closes his eyes and lets them kiss him gently back to life. 

He doesn’t have any designs on retiring, but… it would be nice? One day? And he’d like it to be with Kylo. He’s… smart, and kind, and a fiercely passionate lover, and he understands him, and…

“Go into my head,” he asks. Demands. He’s not sure. He just knows his lips are against the other’s cheek, and his chest is bursting, and he… is no good at voicing real emotion. 

“You’re sure?” his Knight asks, even as the first, tentative trickle slides across his consciousness.

Kylo always makes himself known. Hux figures he could do it without announcing his presence if he truly wanted to, but he’s always ‘knocked’, always stomped his feet so Hux can tell when he’s not alone in there.

It helps him know what’s real, and what’s not.

He feels a hand on his collar, and Hux drapes his arms over Kylo’s shoulders, keeping him bent into place, close. The chair swivelled from the console, giving them room for this. “I’m sure. I have… nothing to hide from you.”

He doesn’t, does he? Kylo knows his dirty little secrets. His fears. His insecurities. His past. His… darkness. He knows how Hux isn’t the Hero, just a man with slightly more moral than ambition. No courageous, danger-lust driving him to heroism, just… drives. And a knowledge, somehow, of what is _really_ bad and wrong. Acts, more than institutions.

Perhaps his slider is more damaged than most, and ignores some of the middle ground, but even through it all he’s known that the extremes of evil _are_. No matter what the First Order did to him.

Kylo has seen it all, and _seen_ it all, first-hand. He knows what the Order wants its sons and daughters to believe, and he won’t judge him for the scars they left behind.

“Hux…”

“Do it. I… I need you to.” He wants him to. He wants to know there’s nothing left hidden, suddenly. He wants Kylo to understand just… just how much he means, and this is the only thing he can really offer him: utter, devoted trust. Himself, when all his life – on either side – his self has been something secret from the worlds he’s walked in. 

Because Hux is from both, and will always _be_ from both. He didn’t leave the Order fully behind, but that doesn’t mean he’ll ever go back. 

Strong hands hold him, around the back of his neck, shoring him off. He’s still sitting, but he’s grateful for the ballast when there’s a _shove_ at his consciousness. It feels like waking up in a rush from a nightmare, or suddenly remembering you left the stove on, but the stove is your whole mind, memories, and emotions.

Hux can’t help but cry out at the force of it, the sudden way his inner world spreads out. His hands grab at Kylo, and he feels the words of questions as much inside as out. Is he okay? Is this okay? Is—

“ _It’s fine_ ,” he says, and it echoes through his own mind and Kylo’s. “I want to do this.”

Nodding, not his own, and then he senses Kylo reaching through him, like a person exploring a house. Slowly at first, gently sliding open drawers and looking inside. Memories he’d thought he’d forgotten (meeting Major Ematt; the first time he ate sandwiches cut across the middle; his joy at passing the test on astronav), through to things he remembers. The day he met that alien – the one whose name Kylo pulls to the fore. Nyin. He was called Nyin. The day General Organa asked him to help her. The day…

All of it. All of it, and he feels his face wet from tears he doesn’t remember crying. His whole life, or so it feels. Laid open and in one go. Laid open, and bare, and known. The kind of knowledge he’s been trying to get into others’ heads, and all it takes is moments and Kylo has him spread bare and known?

“Because you let me,” Kylo whispers, kissing at the salt-streaks. “Because you let me see. Now… let _me_.”

And the focus flips, like a one-way mirror turned around. He’s no longer the one in the observation cell, he’s the one on the other side. 

A small boy, looking up at the endless fur of a Wookie, before being lifted up on his shoulders and feeling like he’s flying. A ball, floated through the air, following fingertip gestures. A room full of people the boy knows, celebrating something.

Away from those, to… an anger. Voices chanting horrible things, and the bubbling-over rage it induces. To fear, even with the light on. To crippling guilt, and the knowledge of his own wickedness. To fear, pain, horror, anguish. Emotion so bright and vivid as to be horrific and awe-inspiring in one. _How does he function like this_?

Those memories are hard, and he tries to pull from them. He remembers similar, for other reasons. Remembers not being enough, and the emptiness in his stomach. It bounces back and forth, and he doesn’t think this was so good, doesn’t—

He sees himself. He sees himself, through Kylo’s eyes, in Kylo’s memories. Feels the faintest spark of hope, and longing. It isn’t even sexual, or sensual, at the beginning of their connection. It’s a keen desire to be known. As keen as his own, long-buried and atrophied.

Hux was not enough for Brendol, but he’s enough for Kylo. Kylo’s eyes are full of him, are happy to see him. The feeling going from terrified, insecure hope to outright ecstasy, muzzled by the fear of non-reciprocity.

“But I do,” he whispers, finding those hands and touching them, holding them against him. “I do.”

He sees him. All of him. Even those bits that make him want to throw up when he realises what was done to him. Kylo did terrible things – and neither of them will deny that – but he _had_ terrible things done to him, and neither of them will deny that, either.

“How can you love me?” Kylo asks. “After what I’ve done?”

“Because… of what you _can_ do, now.” It is the past. If they stay in it, then they will never get anywhere. “You can do different. You can _be_ different. You **are**.”

He knows him, even the bits Kylo is ashamed to let him see. Echoes of screams of pain and death (bouncing through unhappy ears, guilt and horror at the pleasure it felt like at the time). 

“You.”

“What?”

“ _You_. You. Without you… I would still be there,” Kylo whispers. “Hurting. Not able to escape.”

“You escaped because you wanted to,” Hux points out.

“No. I was afraid, and ashamed. I wanted to, but I thought… I would be alone. I thought no one would take me back.”

He turns his face, kissing at the inside of Kylo’s wrist. “You’re more than what you did, and more than what was done to you. I _can_ love you. All of you. And I **do**.”

“I know,” Kylo replies, smiling wryly. “I can feel it.”

“So you know… you know. You know I love you, and…”

“I don’t need to hide.”

“You don’t need to hide.”

“Neither do you,” Kylo reminds him, stooping to kiss the side of his mouth. “I’ve seen it. All of it. You don’t need him, you need to be enough for you, not for him.”

Enough for himself. The words are a heavy sentence, a weight that bears down and lifts up at once. Enough. It’s what he told the scavenger girl, and couldn’t tell himself.

“You’re more than enough for me,” Kylo tells him. “You’re incredible, Hux. You’re beyond incredible.”

Hux feels it, like he knows what his tongue tastes like. Like the feel of his lungs expanding. Like the pulse of blood through his veins. He feels it, all the way through Kylo. He’s enough. He’s enough.

“Come to bed with me,” Kylo asks. “Please.”

It isn’t about sex, but intimacy. Hux is already so pulled open that there’s nothing left to offer, but he wants that, too. The shared, physical bliss. It’s not the goal, it’s just another ingredient to the whole meal. 

“Make love to me,” Kylo asks, shy and demure and loving and knowing in one. All aspects, contradictory or not. 

“Anything you want,” Hux replies, and means it.


	33. Chapter 33

A retrofitted mining ship. In hyperspace. Without a bed. Without _anything_ that passes as comfortable. That’s where they’ve decided to get their freak on? Honestly. Hux worries about them, sometimes.

There’s a few floatation devices and some emergency knapsacks, plus a big, rough sheet for who knows what use. They make their field bed together, and he knows Kylo’s still trickling through his thoughts as they place things down.

Artefacts of war, of living on the edge of safety. Children of conflict is what they are, so of course their bed should be like this. Once they’ve made it relatively homey and comfortable in the troop-carrying section, Hux catches Kylo’s hand.

“This isn’t where I meant to…”

“To what?”

They’ve fucked. They’ve done things together that Hux has never done with another soul. They’ve screwed each other to screaming, and done it inside of one another’s heads, but…

It feels like it’s different. For some reason, it does. He lifts Kylo’s knuckles to his lips, grazes across them. “I want that… retirement. With you.”

Kylo’s eyes widen, then soften, then… how can you even explain it? It’s a feeling he’d understand without the connection his lover is maintaining, an awareness of how utterly… right this is. It’s not just fucking. It’s not just dating. He wants him, and only him, and he has no idea how to express that sentiment in words. 

“I want it, too.”

Hux beams so wide his face hurts, and launches himself – giddily – at him.

Kylo has the sense to take the uncharacteristic exuberance, and he lets them both drop with relative grace onto the little nest they’ve made, holding him and laughing very quietly. Kylo’s laughs are always like that: reserved, and more in his chest and shoulders than his mouth. Hux kisses at his lips, and pins him down.

“You should laugh more.”

“So should you,” Kylo counters.

“Should I tickle you?”

“Do, and I don’t guarantee your safety.”

Not that he really intends to, but it’s fun to tease. 

He has Kylo’s hands down on either side of his face, and the man doesn’t try to wrestle free. His Knight lies – hair haloed out like a black nova – staring up at him. He’s gorgeous, truly. His features are stark and bold: lips that beg for kisses, lashes that dance over his pale cheeks. Everything exaggerated, as loud and powerful as the man beneath. Hux takes a minute to admire, and—

“You think I’m beautiful?”

He’d almost forgotten Kylo was in his head. “The most beautiful and handsome person I’ve ever met.”

Maybe it’s sappy to say it, but they _are_ dating. And he does mean it. He loves to look at him, to kiss him, to touch him. He feels that flicker of insecurity and incredulity, and pecks at the tip of his nose to assuage it.

“Even this. And your ears. And all of you.”

Kylo _melts_ , a little, throaty sound of bliss. He’s furiously pinkening, and Hux kisses his nose again, again, a flurry of them that cause a little, low giggle to burst out, and he’s so fucking in love with him. It’s just kisses, and Kylo is wriggling crazy underneath him. Their fingers knot tight, and Hux kisses his flushed cheeks. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” 

“You’re such a charmer,” Hux complains, even though he can feel the approval coursing through him. Kylo makes him feel good about his body, makes him feel… right. They’re supposed to be getting naked, but mostly he wants to gaze stupidly at him. 

“You knew I was useless at this sort of thing when you let me move in,” Kylo points out. “I didn’t really get any tr—”

That’s enough self-deprecation, Hux decides, kissing the words back in with his tongue. 

Kylo’s lips part to let him in, and he licks over the man’s tongue, stroking subtly. The sounds of their touches echo through the room, the hum of the ship the only background to the slide of fabric and flesh. Hux finds Kylo’s lip with his teeth, biting sharply, then growling in his mind: _don’t you move your hands unless I tell you to_.

There’s a nod, pulling at the bite, and Hux lets go.

True to his agreement, Kylo doesn’t lift them. Hux sits back, and settles his weight on Kylo’s lap. He puts his hands on that broad, taut chest, feeling the muscles bunch under his fingers as he starts to slide his hips up and over his lap. He can feel Kylo’s cock stirring between them, and his fingers pull and pinch at his pecs as he enjoys the promise of things soon to come.

“Can I speak?”

He even asks permission. He’s such a respectful little thing, isn’t he? Once you earn his trust. Hux feels the shudder and the tingle in his nerves, like cold water down his spine, but infinitely more arousing. The power he has, using only his words and his body. The sheer physical strength of the man surrendering below him, asking his _permission_ to even talk.

“You may,” he grants, magnanimously. His fingers start to tug the shirt free, giving his hands the freedom to slide underneath. He doesn’t lift it, not yet, just feeling the abs under his palms and appreciating the muscle tone.

“I should tell you… better. How… I like you.”

“Kylo… I _know_.”

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

A point, he concedes. “Alright.”

No one has ever really flattered him before, and he thinks little of it as he curls his thumbs under the defined chest.

“You’re beautiful, too. But I didn’t want you to think I was… shallow. It’s… I mean, you look great, but…”

His faltering is adorable, fuck. It’s _cute_. He’s a six foot three bruising monster with Force powers the like of which have barely been seen, and he’s a _dork_. And now Hux is laughing, too, but it isn’t mocking at all. 

Kylo being in his head means he knows the difference, and he grabs the shirt harder, shoving it up to pepper adoring kisses over his beautifully sculpted chest. 

_You’re a nerf_.

_So are you._

He hears the fingers ball into fists as he licks and scrapes his teeth across the warm skin, then lets his tongue swirl around a nipple. Hux holds onto his bull-broad shoulders, his own body sliding backwards so he’s lying almost flat-out on top of him, their legs tangling as he maps out his property, marking it with his saliva. 

“I just… Hux… don’t laugh, but…”

 _I understand_ , he thinks, and thinks as reassuringly as he can. _I understand it all_.

“I **love** you. I – I know I keep saying it, but – ohhh – _ohhh_ – I have to because I feel it and yes! Yes, please don’t stop, please!”

His nails dig in as he gnaws gently, pulling that nipple as proud as he can and then lapping and latching on to suckle tightly. He knows Kylo enjoys a little pain strung through his pleasure, and he hears knuckles pound the barely-covered floor in an effort to stay still. 

“I… the words keep… I keep thinking them and I have – have – _ooooohhhfuckyes_ – have to say it because it feels like I might burst if I – **please Maker don’t STOP**.”

Hux bites his way down, finding Kylo’s stomach and flickering once over his navel. It gets a ticklish little shriek, and he holds down the other’s hips as he grabs his belt buckle between teeth and lips and ravages it from side to side with a tiny growl. 

“ _Please let me use my hands_ ,” Kylo begs.

 _No_. _Not yet._

Not yet, because he has plans, and those plans mean kneeling between Kylo’s now-spread legs, and using the heel of his palm to grind rough circles into it, watching his face shift in shock and pleasure. His lover is fighting the very real fear of being immobilised, combined with the desire to please him in return. 

Strange, how he can tell that, now. He’d always just thought Kylo wanted to touch because he didn’t want to surrender all control, but in his head like this he can feel the maelstrom that is his drive to _please in return_ , and his struggle to simply take the pleasure offered to him.

He thinks he needs to give, more than receive, and Hux decides it’s time he got over that, if only for one night. “Let me.”

“Hux…”

“Let me,” he asks, again. He’s asking, not demanding. He knows he doesn’t _need_ to, because Kylo will want to obey. Want to, and want not to, and be caught on that delicious, see-saw, the balancing point between both pulls. 

A tiny nod of acquiescence, and Hux goes back to tugging at the buckle. He works more diligently this time, sliding the leather out and is pleased by how easily he can do this, now. The material has shaped to his hands, and his hands to the task, through repetition. 

Kylo’s cock is already fully hard in his pants, and Hux takes his sweet time unwrapping the zip and parting the cloth to let his fingers chase it through his boxers. The soft fabric is warm and snug, and when he starts to stroke him through the lie of it, Kylo keens a sound through his nose that no man should ever be able to make.

“You like that?”

Of course he does. He knows he does, but he wants to make him admit it. Power. Even now.

“Y-yes.”

He thumbs over the head, feeling a little precum seep through the fabric as he rubs and rubs and rubs. Kylo’s jaw tightens to impossible levels, needy gulps and whines peppered on his breath, pearls of begging letters strung out for him to hear.

“I’m going to suck you off, Kylo. I’m going to ride your cock with my lips. I’m going to make you _beg_ for the end, and then I’m going to coat my dick in your release and slide into you, and take you so slowly you beg to be allowed to come a second time. Do you understand me?”

“ _FUCK YES YES PLEASE HUX PLEASE OH FUCK YES_.”

The response is all the stirring he needs, and he licks at the boxers, the taste rough and almost soapy, but the _whine_ it gets him is worth it. Kylo’s such a slut for him, and he adores it. Adores how vocal and happy his lover gets, and he pulls the waistband down to let his prick bounce up and out. 

He has a lovely cock. It goes with the rest of him, but Hux can’t lie that he enjoys it. It strains up to bump against his chin when he tries to kiss Kylo’s stomach in a tease, and that causes a huff of amusement. “Happy to see me?”

“ _Always_.”

Hux knows Kylo can recover faster if he wills it, if he’s got the sense enough to do it. He also knows how much he loves to be fucked after he’s already climaxed, when he’s still tender and sensitive, but can take it for longer without needing to get off. 

He loves to do that. Loves even more to fuck the come back into him, and he starts to lap over the shaft with long, flat-tongued contact. He lets his mouth slather slightly, wiggling underneath, manipulating the thudding veins and savouring the musk and taste. Kylo smells of lust to him, now, and he can’t help but grab the shaft so he can wrap his lips over only the crown, suckling fiercely and painting with his tongue.

Kylo _wails_ , still keeping his hands in place. 

_Good boy_ , he thinks to him, as he sucks so hard his ears pop. Tonguing over the slit, lower to the flesh below the crown. _Want to make you howl my name_.

“…already… would.”

 _Not like this_ , Hux thinks, and pushes a single dry finger up against his hole, circling with ferocity as he takes as much of his dick in over his tongue as he can.

“FUCK. HUX. OH FUCK.”

 _Better_ , he croons, his jaw a little sore from the sudden enforced openness, but nothing he can’t will away. He uses his tongue all he can, nose nudging his pubes, then starting the process of fucking his own face onto Kylo’s prick.

Without his hands free to hold Hux down, Kylo can only buck lightly, riding the promise of his fingertip and the gift of his lips and throat. When he needs a break, Hux pulls up and rubs his cheek against the hard thrust waiting for him, swallowing and getting air inside. The lube is close to hand, and he grabs at it and slicks his fingers, watching his lover’s face.

His Knight looks punch-drunk. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you do.”

“I don’t,” Kylo insists, and then his eyes roll back to show the whites as a lubricated digit penetrates him slowly. 

He does. Hux swirls his middle finger around, letting him wriggle on it, letting him bear down and tug it into him, all the way in, and wiggle like it’s Hux’s dick instead. It’s ridiculously hot to watch, and the colour in Kylo’s cheeks deepens to Corellian blood-stripe red. 

“Hux, I—”

“You listen to me, Kylo Ren. _I_ get to decide what’s enough for me, and _I_ get to remind you that there’s no one for me, but you.”

“Hux…” Wheedling, now.

“No. _No_ , Kylo. You’re enough. You’re enough, and so am I. Aren’t I?”

 _More than enough_ , is the encouraging response.

“You look at you through my eyes, whenever you feel _not_ enough,” Hux orders him, and pushes the second finger inside. “You tell me, and then you jump into my head, and **trust** my judgement.”

He says this with complete conviction, and he feels Kylo’s world shaking inside, because it is all around his head, around his fingers, close to lips and tongue. 

“…yes…” Almost meaning it. Nearly.

“You’re wonderful,” he says, and bends his fingers as he kisses the base of his shaft. “You’re strong,” as he licks him from root to tip. “You’re kind. And smart. And loving. And _mine_.” 

He doesn’t see his eyes, but he feels enough as he swallows as much of his cock as he can, letting it graze the back of his throat and make his eyes pool up. He lifts, then drops, using his tongue and three fingers in him, the rhythm imperfect but rapid, the intent like a song in his head he can’t stop hearing.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

Kylo nearly freaks out, meaning he has to hold him down with the free hand on his belly. Hux sucks harder, and there’s a constant thread of wanting in Kylo that is maddeningly bright and pure. It’s so wonderful, and he feels just as wanted, back. 

“ _Please_ ,” Kylo begs. 

_What?_

No words, but the image of his hands buried in Hux’s hair. He smiles, and nods, and Kylo holds his head, but doesn’t force the matter. He just wants to touch, and then he’s writhing again, riding the fingers in his ass and the mouth around his dick with tiny little abortive gestures. Hux slurps hard, and then stops.

A pause, and Kylo _whines_ like a broken engine.

_Are you enough?_

It’s rude of him, but he’s going to make him admit it. He thinks the answer as hard as he can to him, tries to pour out his adoration and pride. Tries to drown him in it, as his finger grazes his prostate.

“ ** _YES_** ,” Kylo screams, confused, but sure. 

He’s sobbing, and Hux thinks permission through to properly move. Kylo pauses for a moment, then grabs his hair tighter and slams his mouth down over his cock. Hard, bruising, punishing movements and a begging thought for permission. He won’t let himself reach climax without said permission, and Hux holds it off until the feeling is almost pain, then: a single thought of yes, followed by a flare through his body and mind, an orgasm that nearly trips his own fuseboard, and a mouth that’s filled to bursting with come.

It takes everything he has not to follow him over the edge, pulling off and spitting onto fingers that are half-way out of his clenching hole.

And then in. As promised, fucking him with his own seed, the goop mixing with the lube, and making him shudder and pull away, but it’s glorious, so glorious, and Hux should be trying to hump his ass right now, but maybe the lazy satisfaction in Kylo is helping him keep a hold of his responses?

Head on his thigh, watching the tortured, blissed-out expression of stimulus past the point of no return. Kylo is one huge, hulking, satisfied blanket of muscle and bone, and Hux adores him so fucking much.

“Want you,” his Knight whispers. “Please. Want…”

Fuck. He rolls Kylo onto one side, then shuffles to get as close as he can. His lover bends his knees towards his chest, and Hux lines himself up with care. Draped over him, hands on the tarpaulin covering, and he starts the steady, steady process of fucking him shallowly, but sweetly. His head is closing in, his vision blinkered to what they both want – and need – right now. Snaps of his hips, fucking the feeling back into him.

No words, just touches to his face, his neck, and Kylo pushes an image through into his mind. A request, and something so delicious he could never say no.

Still buried in, he guides Kylo to lie on his stomach, and sprawls full-length over him. His lips get shoulders and neck and ears, his hands the floor – wrists pressed against his warm sides – and their legs tangle utterly as he slides himself over Kylo’s back. Over, and into him. It’s not fierce, and it’s not fast, but it’s absolute _heaven_. The feeling of him slick and open, the way they touch almost every inch of skin together. 

Hux never wants it to stop. His rolling, gliding, plunging inside makes the hairs all over his body prickle, and then he can feel Kylo’s frame tense, ready for another climax. Faster than he has any right to, and how could Hux deny him?

“No,” Kylo begs. “No. Not yet.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, right beside the ear he’s nibbling on. 

“No, but I still want it to last forever.”

Of course. Hux does, too. Hux wants to slide into him, over and over and over. He huffs a tiny sound of amused affection, feeling the dazed thoughts get ever more incoherent. He’s not far behind himself, and he licks at the shell of Kylo’s ear.

“You have me forever. You don’t… have to make this moment draw out. You _have_ me.” Forever and ever and ever. He can feel the certainty of it stretch out, and it’s like the sudden punch to hyperspace. Black, giving way to streaks of light. Speed unimaginable, and a known destination.

He’s Kylo’s. Kylo is his. It doesn’t matter when he comes, because it won’t be the last time. He has something worth fighting for, now. Something worth protecting from harm. Something to do right by, and a burning urge to save. 

Hux isn’t good. He’ll never be good. But he _is_ in love, and that means he _wants_ good things, all for his lover.

Kylo shudders under him as he formulates that thought, gratitude and an intense sense of safety, of being shielded and worth the while to do it.

Kindness and affection and possessive, fierce, vengeful desire in Hux spur Kylo to his finish. Not a hand to his dick this time, but the sweet, sweet rolling together has edged him to mess all over the tarpaulin. He lies in his filth, and Hux fills him up from above, the climax drawn out and glorious. Spurting, bathing his insides in lust and reminders of their rightness together. 

A good, good shunt in, and then he drops, boneless, smiling into the kisses he vaguely makes across his neck. 

His Knight is a wreck, but a happy one. He’s not far off.

“Fuck,” Kylo whispers. “That…”

“I know.” He knows. So very, very deeply.


	34. Chapter 34

“Question.”

“Speak.”

Hux lets his tongue taste his upper lip, imagining he can still feel Kylo there. “How much do you care about us going back to the base.”

“You mean, right now, or ever?”

Hux snorts. “Right now. I’m not suggesting mutiny or desertion.”

“You have a better idea?”

Hux has the start of an idea. “If we go back to base, what are we going to do?”

“Get shouted at by my mother for not bringing back my uncle?”

“…aside from that.”

“…uh… ask for… targets?” Kylo squints, his nose wrinkling. “Are you suggesting we run away from my mother? Because I don’t have a good track record when it comes to that.”

Hux can’t help but choke out a laugh. “True, but we’re not running away, so much as… taking the scenic route home. And sending touristy messages.”

“What a lovely honeymoon. ‘See the galaxy, shoot the enemy, sex the boyfriend, call your mom and tell her you’re not evil again’…”

Hey, there’s worse ways to spend your time, he thinks. Much worse. “I can fly us around.”

“Can you shoot better than the troopers can?”

“You know, I bet most of them were missing on _purpose_. But yes. I’m a reasonable shot. We can go to their supply routes. Do some… guerrilla warfare.”

“Count me in. But you’re telling Mom.”

It’s a small price to pay, really. And this way they get to set their own terms, their own deadlines, targets… and. You know. They could get some throw pillows and an inflatable mattress for the ship…

***

“What’s your effective range?”

“With what?”

“The Force?”

“Yes, but… doing _what_?”

“…what _can_ you do?”

Maybe they should have discussed this a bit before agreeing to turn into a two-man strike force. 

“I can… move objects. I can stop objects moving. I can control minds.”

“And is there a limit on – you know – a scope?”

“Well, I don’t think I could hurl a Star Destroyer out of orbit, but I’ve moved small craft. It takes a lot of focus, but it’s doable. I can freeze blaster rifle or ion cannon fire. I can control one person in depth, at least. If it’s a wider range of people, it’s easier to just knock them out, or give them basic commands…”

All good. If scary. “And how close do you need to be?”

“Line of sight.” His head cants. “What are you even planning?”

“Well, I kind of needed to know what you _could_ do, first.”

“Wasn’t it in my file?”

“Some, but… not enough. And much of it was speculation, or third-hand information.” 

“Ah.”

“Any other tricks that come in handy?”

“Well, I can hear and sense people. Not droids, not… their intent, anyway. Motors, servos, sounds and movement I can.” Then there’s another pause. “But it’s… not all… Force things. I mean, as well as being able to fight hand to hand, and my stamina and gymnastics.”

“Oh?”

“…I have… a reasonable talent with hacking and mending and destroying ships.” Kylo shrugs. “Son of a smuggler, remember?”

That _will_ come in handy. Hux slides through the targets they’ve been given information to pick and choose from, the blue holos scooting past their eyes. “You wanna try take down a shipyard?”

“As in, somewhere making ships?”

“We got somewhere that makes TIEs. Reckon that could be a good place to hit?”

“The less flying death balls they have, the better.”

***

Hux looks their outfits over. They’re not dressed in Resistance Grunge, but they’re not dressed in First Order Smocking, either. They won’t blend in, but Kylo’s insisted it isn’t necessary.

And Hux… doesn’t like being helpless like this, being entirely dependent on Kylo’s skills with mental manipulation. What if they come across someone who can’t be controlled? What if Kylo is injured? What if he’s distracted? 

They don’t _have_ any First Order disguises, but maybe they should get some before they leave. Even if they’re both a little tall to be stormtroopers, they could easily get low-ranking officer gear, or maintenance gear, or… well. _Anything_. 

That can be part of the plan, right?

“You sure about this?” he asks.

“If you are… then I am.”

Deep breaths. Hand feeling for the sidearm, and reassuring himself it’s there (and with the safety on, so no accidental discharge over one’s own foot before they really get to it). He steals a quick kiss, and they set out.

They have to leave the shuttle a ways back, but that’s likely for the best.

***

It’s absolutely insane. Kylo just tells people to open doors, and they do. Without a second glance. A sort of glazed tone in their voices, and they forget they ever saw the pair of them the moment they’re out of sight. No object permanence whatsoever.

Is it really this easy? With a Force-user? No wonder the Emperor and then the Leader tried to remove all opposing Force-sensitives. No wonder the Jedi were once the peace keepers of the galaxy. 

It does lead to the question of: “Couldn’t you have just killed everyone already?”

“What?” Kylo asks, as they get magically easily into the server room. 

There should be more checks. Like. Non-Human checks. That’s the Order’s weakness: they rely too much on their Humans. They don’t have droids – or, for that matter, aliens – and they leave themselves wide open to such intrusions. 

Not that he’s going to send them a report on how to up their security. He’s happy to exploit these loopholes, and let Kylo in to the mainframe. He doesn’t have an astromech to help, but apparently he doesn’t need one. He kneels and pulls at consoles and wires and hums brokenly to himself as he works.

“I mean, when you were with the Order. You could have just… walked in and killed people?”

“If I knew where people were.”

“Not the… you could have found out, couldn’t you?”

“Are you, in fact, criticising my talents when evil?”

“Guess I am. Or maybe getting to the point that you could have done worse, and didn’t. By choice, or… some other reason. You had over a decade, and you could have walked into the senate hall and wiped out the whole democratic process in a half hour.”

“Could you maybe not give me plans on how to…”

“Kylo?”

“…think… maybe I tripped something, and. We might want to… leave?”

“Because…”

“Because possibly the whole place is going to fucking blow up.” Kylo stands, grabbing hold of his wrist. “And I don’t want to. Blow up.”

Neither does Hux, to be honest. He pulls out his sidearm, because he can hear footsteps coming, and three armed troopers clatter into the server room, right as his hand lifts and he gets two before the third can fire off a shot, and watches as the man in white _crumples_ to the ground, cowering with his head between his hands.

“Nice,” Kylo says. 

“Thanks.”

“Please don’t shoot me,” the man whimpers.

“Get all the civilians out of here,” Hux tells him. “Now. Before they all die.”

“…you… you’re not going to kill me?”

“No, but the explosion might,” Kylo confirms. “Which is _still going to happen, by the way_.”

Hux nods, and tosses his head in the direction they came. “Then let’s _go_.”

People don’t know what to do with the alarms sounding, and Hux doesn’t actually want to ask (yet) what Kylo’s done to make this whole shipyard (or this building) set to explode, or how long they have. 

He shoots a few people. He sees a few more blasts that _should_ have hit him freeze in mid-air. He shoots a few more people.

He feels nothing when they die, even though maybe he should. He’s killed so many people for the sake of duty now that it’s a numb thing, most of the time. They fire, they’re fired at, someone stops (or both do), and that’s what war is. That and the sound of screaming metal and roaring fireballs as Kylo pushes a gust of wind behind him to get him out of the building proper. He lands on his face, catching his weight on his palms, and feels Kylo land beside him. He peers up in time to see the first flare of fire break over the bubble Kylo’s holding around them, and man.

It’s impressive. It’s also fucking terrifying.

“Kylo… should we keep running?”

“Might be wise, because—”

Now there’s TIEs flying around. Which makes sense, as it’s a TIE-producing factory, and the building just blew up, and who wouldn’t want to get in the fastest machine around to escape? People who can’t fly, is who.

Kylo’s arm goes around his waist, and they stagger up together, running with a strangely equal gait. Hux is only two inches shorter, after all, and Kylo somehow manages to run flat-out and at his own speed. The inferno is now focussed within the building, but the TIEs ahead shoot down at them.

“Can’t you block the gunners?”

“Hard to… do when they’re moving so fast and there’s so many of them,” Kylo admits, as they careen towards their half-hidden ship (and now Hux hopes to fuck no one will see it and shoot it). 

Instead, bolts go flying from them. Which is probably equally hard, and Hux is now wondering why they thought this was a good idea? Because they are going to fucking _die_. So much for saving the galaxy with Kylo by his side, he’s going to—

“Run. Keep running.”

He did this once before. Hux makes sure he catches Kylo’s eyes.

“You follow.”

“I’ll follow,” Kylo promises, his voice ferocious with the desire to live, now. 

It’s different. He doesn’t have so much fear that Kylo will throw himself down unless he has to, and Hux _does_ need to get the pre-flight checks fucked over in favour of rapid escape. 

_I love you_ , he thinks as he puts his head down, tucking the blaster into his belt as he swings his arms to pendulum him faster to the ship. In, in, up, on. Buttons. Engines. Sensors. 

_Kylo still holding ground_.

He can see the blob of him on the scanner, and he knows there’s only one way to get this… 

The small craft picks up, shields flickering around the durable hull, and he flies it right up and over Kylo. The ship takes less hits than he expected, and he can’t feel anything from the open-backed troop section, but he has to hope Kylo’s had the sense to—

“It’s **shut** ,” he hears roared through the craft.

“Punching it,” he yells back, and jumps to hyperspeed right over the surface of the planet.

***

Kylo looks a little worse for wear when he joins Hux in the cockpit, but he only gets a glimpse before he grabs the man’s tunic, pulling him in for a _thank fuck you didn’t die_ kiss. His Knight kisses back a heartbeat later, and they growl little warning noises until the anger is sufficiently expressed, and foreheads press together.

“That was insane,” Hux complains.

“It was _fucking great_ ,” Kylo corrects him.

“We almost died. Multiple times.”

“We blew up _lots_ of ships, and did **significant** morale damage, too. _And_ we let the workers go, and warned them. You think that won’t spread?”

It might. Hux grins, and takes a half step back.

“You were incredible, you know.”

“Me? You flew over me to get me!”

“Well, you jumped _in_.”

“Only because you gave me the ideal angle.”

“…okay.” He did do better with that than he could ever have hoped.

“ _And_ you took down how many of them? I mean, who were shooting at us?”

“Didn’t really count.” Hux blushes very slightly, and slides his hands over Kylo’s shirt.

“If you want to go home, we can. But if you want to do more…?”

More? They nearly died. _Multiple. Times_.

“Dinner, first. Then we’ll destroy more Order property.” He is a bit hungry, now the adrenaline is itching out of his system, and he needs to decompress a bit, before he makes any more life-threatening decisions.

Kylo’s lips curl around an idea. “How about somewhere… nice?”

Nice? Like, a date? “You take everyone for dinner after destruction?”

“Only the cute psychopaths,” Kylo says, beaming openly.

Dinner. Date. Devastation.

Sounds like the best kind of recreation.

“You have a deal.”

“I don’t have any nice clothes. You think… we’re okay like this? Or should we go shopping first?”

Hux laughs at the thought. “Clothes, dinner, then destruction?”

“Have to look good when we’re saving the galaxy, Hux.”

Kylo would look good in (or out of) a sack. But more nice clothes never go amiss.

“Fine, but if you decide you need to do something _else,_ first, too, I’m stopping the ship and you’re walking.”

Kylo beams, and kisses him some more. 


	35. Chapter 35

The Resistance is not drowning in funds. Hux knew when he moved laterally that he wasn’t doing it for filthy lucre. If he wanted money, he’d have gone into private security consultation, or maybe politics. War was an economy, but it was one that fed distant coffers of weapons- and ship-manufacture. The war chest wasn’t deep enough to supply them with a credit line for retail therapy. (Or even real therapy, come to think.)

Still. The slim stipend he’s had, he’s treated as a third less impressive than it actually is: skimming off one credit in three to his nest egg, for an eventual (hah) retirement. Food is cheap if you know what you’re doing, and he’s learned how to live lean.

Kylo’s assets – if he had any – when in the Order’s service are entirely inaccessible to him. Hux is sure Leia and Han won’t see their kid go without a rag on his back, but he’s _also_ sure they have put most of their own resources into this fight like others would a pension fund.

Hux is still concerned Kylo might turn his nose up at his idea of ‘good’ clothing, though. He can’t waste money on things he will only wear a handful of times. The little boutique he takes him to is a bit off-the-wall. It’s not a chain, it’s not so-expensive-you-look-great-thin-from-starving, and it’s not the kind of stuff you need to shower _after_ you put it on. Just a little place he found once, on his travels. 

And which he comes back to, whenever he needs more civilian clothing. He doesn’t come nearly enough, but he’s greeted like an old friend when he walks in with Kylo at his heel.

The little old lady running it – a Twi’lek with mischievous lekku – looks up at them both as they enter.

“You have a friend,” she says.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I _can_ talk to people, Torika.” He shakes his head. “And he’s not my friend.”

“He’s not?”

Hux lets his smugness show, for once. “You think you can outfit him?”

Torika clucks at him, and then walks towards Kylo. Kylo, who is now watching her like a prey-beast about to be devoured. Hux knows from experience that Torika is all bark and no bite, and that the minor sexual innuendos are part of the service she sells. 

“I think so… does he speak?”

“I do.” Kylo shoots a worried glance over.

“Get in the changing rooms and strip,” she tells him. “I’ll send items through. You can either allow your— _not_ -friend to see the options, or you can pick for yourself.”

Though the options she presents are almost always perfect straight off. Torika has an unnerving ability to read taste in moments.

Nothing here is shop-floor ready. There’s a whole heap of end-of-line things, or slight off-perfect items. She _could_ sell them as-is, but instead she finds something that mostly fits, and snicks a few darts or tucks in, minor adjustments to personalise the item fully, and leaves you with something as good as tailor-made.

For a fraction of the price.

Admittedly you’re dependent on there being something in roughly your size and taste of colour and fabric, but he’s never walked out without _something_ to speak for it.

Kylo goes into the changing room, and Torika scoots through her racks with unerring ease. She picks up several shirts and two pairs of pants and then nods to herself.

“You, too?”

“Just one shirt for me. Something… nice.”

“Quite the hunk you’ve hooked,” the Twi’lek says, pinching his cheek. “About time I dressed you up for someone else. I was worried you only did that for me.”

“It would still be worth it,” Hux replies, a little awkwardly. 

Torika doesn’t find his failed attempts at flirting as anything but endearing, he can tell.

***

The first thing just doesn’t sit over his shoulders, no matter how much she tweaks at it. Kylo looks panicked, but lets himself be shooed back into the second outfit.

This one is in rich, wine-stained red. The fabric is deeply brocaded with a lustred blood-stripe chasing whorls and flares just a half-tone darker than the main weave. A high neck, and it just looks… right. It looks great _now_ , and he knows Torika will make it look even better. 

He barely notices the lightly sheened, but sturdy cargo pants below. They’re almost too nice to wear, but he can tell they’ll take some hammering. When Kylo turns, he’s treated to a nice look at his rear, and: “That’s it,” Hux whispers.

“You think?” Kylo fusses at things until his hands are slapped.

Torika is in her element. “Hold still. I need to… yes. Okay. Strip. Give it to me. I will fix it.”

“What needs fixing?”

“You’ll _see_.”

***

Torika works miracles. She darts the fabric just in at the waist, and cuts flashes at each hip. The best part is the neckline, from which she cuts out shallow chunk and then a dagger-shaped V dipping down. The tiniest hint of collarbones, and a full stripe for Hux’s tongue (later). The wrists are slashed high inside, and a small chevron tilts towards the central knuckle above his hands. The pants barely needed adjusting at all, and it’s all off-set by a simple hair-clip she found in one of her many and varied accessory sections.

Kylo didn’t think it was a good idea until he saw the fist-full of his hair scooped over the scalp and up from his ears, pinned at the back of his head. The rest tumbles behind those ears – a few whisps to break up the spread of them – and then down his shoulders. It’s not overly feminine, but it is graceful.

His boyfriend preens in front of the mirror while Hux is paying for them both. Apparently ‘cute boyfriend discount’ is in play, and he’s happy with the deal they make.

Hux, for his part, simply finds another shirt. This one is a slightly-blued charcoal, crossing the chest to button at the side of his neck and down one shoulder. It’s less revealing, but he likes it. The belt she’s put on his hips he’s less sure of, but he’s also considered ulterior motivations and accepted the challenge.

No one knows you better than your tailor, right?

When they’re done, Kylo walks close behind him. Hux isn’t sure why, and the hair on the back of his neck prickles. He feels a hand guide him to the alleyway beside the shop, and then there’s a grip over his throat, tilting his face up for kisses.

“Thank you,” Kylo whispers, between brushes of his lips that make Hux’s knees weak. “No one’s ever given me so beautiful a gift.”

“You can pay for dinner,” Hux suggests. “And then we can find somewhere that sells just mattresses and sheets?”

“You think you’re going to screw me in our ship?”

“ _Again,_ you mean?” Hux snickers, and turns to bite at Kylo’s hand. “Dinner. Buy bed. Use bed.”

“Destroy First Order.”

“Destroy First Order,” he agrees.

After the bed.

***

Kylo keeps trying to get Hux to pick where they eat, but Hux doesn’t actually mind. He really has no huge culinary pretensions, and everywhere looks good. He’s probably wrinkling his nose too much at the cost, because Kylo pulls him to ever more-expensive doors.

At least until he grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “You don’t need to break the bank, you know.”

“But I want… to treat you nice,” Kylo mutters. “Like you deserve.”

“I don’t need the price tag to tell me what’s good. Take me somewhere the locals eat. Take me somewhere we can _talk_ and be _us_.”

“You won’t worry I’m a cheap date?”

Hux leans up to kiss below his ear. “We’re past the judging phase, my silly nerf. I have you on my arm, we could go to the corner bakery and grab street food and…” Hux pauses.

“What?”

“Why don’t we do that? Grab the most ridiculous food we can, find a bench, and watch people go by?”

“…dressed like this?”

The insanity of it appeals. Hux has always enjoyed people watching, and he’s usually done so discreetly on his own. Eating’s been a necessary evil, but this could be fun. “Please. I want to.”

“…I think I saw a stall selling huge wraps three blocks over, and there was the stall with the spun sugar sticks…”

“Sweep me off my feet,” he croons. 

“You’re insane,” Kylo replies, but he’s happy.

So Hux is, too.

***

There is way too much meat and once-vegetables in this wrap. In fact, there is just way too much everything. It keeps threatening to spill out, and even with the flimsi napkins stuffed down their collars and over their laps, they have to keep course-correcting and licking one another’s fingers to stop the worst escapes.

Kylo insisted on getting two different kinds so they could share, but – of course – three bites in to taste both, he decided he wanted Hux’s, and Hux was happy to oblige.

He’s not sure how he’s going to manage spun sugar after this, but he’s going to damn well try. They sit on the bench in the courtyard, watching families and units and groups and singletons of all kinds drift by. Parents and children. Older couples. Young, busy workers. There’s more races here than there even is back on D’Qar, and Hux just… drinks it all in. 

Normal. They’re normal, here. No one knows that he’s the son of a Commandant, and his lover is the son of two war Generals, and the grandson of Darth Vader himself. They’re just two idiots eating junk food together, and Hux forgets (mostly) to be bitchy.

He sees a few atrocious outfits, of course. You can’t escape that. But mostly, he sees the vast, bouncing-along of life. Everyone sliding between each other, small children trying to make friends with anyone who will make eye-contact. Polite nods, holding open of doors to strangers, and the tinkling of someone busking their instrument a few streets over.

This is worth fighting for. 

Hux turns, and sees Kylo’s finished his food. His cheeks bulge a little from the last bunches shoved in, and his lips are smeared glossy with grease. Hux pushes back some errant hair strands from his lover’s face, using the back of his hand, and offers the rest of his meal to Kylo.

“You don’t want it?”

“Saving room for dessert,” he admits.

Kylo doesn’t need telling twice, and he wolfs the remainder down. It’s stupid how much he enjoys watching that, and then he reaches over to dab his lips first, before doing his own.

“What is it?” Kylo asks, as they’re letting their bellies settle down over the food.

“I just… doesn’t it make you… doesn’t it make you homesick, a bit?”

“…eating here?”

“Seeing everyone.”

Kylo frowns, and looks about. “This isn’t anyone’s home, Hux.”

“No, not the place… the people.” It’s weird, okay? He can’t quite put it into words, but seeing everyone buzzing around has a curious thing stoked inside. “This is worth protecting, and… it gives me… it gives me a goal.”

“You want to run a fast food st—hey!”

Hux lifts his hand from the thwack. “No. You idiot. But… did you mean it?”

Kylo does know what he’s talking about, because he nods. And there’s understanding, mingled with fear. Hope, and borderline hysteria. “I did.”

He finds Kylo’s hand with his, the left, and pulls it to his knee. A thumb stroking over one finger, as he looks up to read his expression.

Kylo could still just deny it, or shrug it off, or laugh, or pull his hand away. He could keep it there and Hux would go no further. 

Hux finds – somehow – his heart moves, but his lungs won’t. The air is thin and tart with ozone, and he’s almost ready to let go of Kylo’s hand when the smallest of nods comes through.

 _Ask me properly_ , he hears echoing in his head. 

Hux slides his grip around, moving so they’re palm to palm. He’s got the answer he needs, and now he can make arrangements to make it official. And real. And the kind of story you tell for years to come.

“Sugar time?” he asks, before he just throws himself to his knees anyway, and launches into an ill-advised and unpolished speech of undying love and affection.

“I want pink,” Kylo insists.

“So do I.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hux says: whoops.

Hux is sure the mattress they got is too big. It’s designed to be modular in some respects, and it expands, but it’s also way too big. Kylo insists it will fit, and has several sets of blankets and cushions and pillows to turn it into a little love-palace.

Join the Resistance, they said. Save the galaxy, they said.

Shack up with the leader’s son in the back of a reclaimed ship in some weird, bohemian love-nest, no one said.

The delivery droid helps them back to the docks, and Hux is sure everyone thinks they’re some weird, sexual perverts or something. So what if it’s normal to have a sexual relationship? He doesn’t want them _thinking_ about him doing it. 

“It’s going to fit,” Kylo reassures him, and then starts unpacking.

Only, it unpacks itself. Sort of. One minute it’s in the boxing, the next it’s spreading out all over everywhere, and Hux shrieks and leaps up onto the seating around the edge of the personnel-carrying room whilst the bed makes a soft, squishy kingdom in every available inch.

Kylo’s giggling into his hand, his eyes watching Hux over them, and then Hux scowls. “What?”

“Did you think it was attacking you?”

“No!”

“Then why did you jump like your ankles were about to be bitten off?”

“Because they were… this isn’t a bed! It’s a fluffy monster!”

And sure. They have other rooms with flat floors: the cockpit, the ‘fresher… but do they really need this whole room to be… oh. Perhaps they do.

“Are Sirs happy?” the droid asks. 

“Very happy,” Kylo agrees, and tips it a small credit chit.

The droid burbles its response, then leaves them alone. 

Hux, standing on top of the bench, holding on to the straps for soldiers to grab on to. Kylo, his eyes wicked with possibility on the edge of the room, just off the mattress.

It’s big. Bigger than one you’d get in a hotel. The spread has made it a bit less fluffy than it was in the showroom example, inside the contained, normal space… but he has no doubt it’s still luxurious. It cost them more than Hux wants to think about, but Kylo had insisted he could afford it.

The door shuts behind the droid, and Kylo looks coquettishly up at him. “I don’t normally put out on a first date, let alone buy a bed.”

“Oh, shut up, Ren. You were dating me back in the cells.”

“Your technique is an interesting one: lock them up, make them watch movies with you…”

Hux snorts, then kicks off his boots and – swinging from the straps – lands on the slightly wobbly floor. “I didn’t make you watch movies with me.”

Kylo shucks off his boots, too, and they clatter off to the edge of their massive collection of fluffy things. “Want to finish the interior decorating?”

“You could say that.”

***

A few of the pillows are needed where there’s a strut for the benches around the outside of the sunken bed-pool, ensuring no limbs or skulls connect with the poles, but the rest all get stuffed into one corner to be the ‘head’ of the bed. It’s absolutely ridiculous, and gloriously perfect. It’s unconventional, messy, and practical. It’s making the best of what they have, and what could be the better metaphor for their love affair?

Not that he’s unhappy in any way. Absolutely not. He never really thought he _could_ find love, and now he’s found someone he can giggle with, go shopping with, sit alongside in companionable, people-watching snark… and who he can fuck like mad, after all of that.

This is just beyond perfect. It probably looks co-dependent and strange to others, but Hux knows this is _right_. It is. It just _is_.

There’s his boyfriend – his – well. His _soon to be fiancé_ (just as soon as Hux works out how to properly propose), sitting back on his haunches in that delicious shirt, begging for kisses or worse. Ready to take down the biggest evil alive, and marry him. (Unrelated, but both intense.)

Hux jumps him.

Literally. 

What’s the point in having a huge-ass bed that could easily sleep seven people if you’re not going to use it? He launches bodily at him, and sends Kylo hurtling onto his back. There’s an _oomph_ , a flail, and then he has Knight arms and legs curling around him as they kiss.

And do they kiss. Hux has been waiting all afternoon to attack that strip of skin that’s bared for his attention. So it’s there he kisses, as he holds Kylo’s shoulders down. Lips into that arrow-point, tongue slicing through the dip. He feels answering touches to his temple, across his head, and fingers in his hair. More kisses, up to his collarbones, nibbling little bites and swirling with his tongue.

“Hux…”

“Shh,” he tells him, as he writes his name with licks. Over and over, until Kylo’s a writhing mess. The hands in his hair hold him in place for more sucking, and his hips roll beneath him, begging for more. 

He’s gorgeous. Truly. He tastes of space and sky and salt and Hux nicks his teeth in just a little as he sucks a low chain of purple pearls across the front of his chest, nosing fabric out of the way when he needs to. He wants it to sting, wants it to mark.

Wants to claim his territory, and have everyone know this man is owned. Happily so, but owned all the same.

Kylo responds really, really forcefully to the love-bites, his ankles locking behind Hux’s ass so they can grind together while he leaves those hickeys, his gasps and moans a delicious banquet that anyone passing them in the hangar… oops. They might well hear, but hopefully will then move along.

Not that anyone will know _who_ they are, and if they do listen to the odd moan and pace faster away, he can live with that.

“Want to mark you,” he rumbles, as if it wasn’t patently obvious from what he’s just done to his throat.

“All of me is yours,” his lover promises, finding his ears and holding on. “Do it.”

“Even if it hurts?”

“ _I like it when it’s you_.”

Shit, shit, shit. 

“Shirt. Off,” he barks, and sits up enough to shuck his own off. They’re both too nice to ruin in a lust-mad haze. 

Hux perches astride Kylo’s hips, rocking himself into his lap, twisting and twirling and giving him as good a show as he can as he divests himself. He lifts and moves back just long enough for Kylo to throw off his shirt, and then he slams the man back down.

With hands that hold him down, Hux drags his eyes over his frame. He’s still as pale as ever, under the neckline. His face has started to take on a different hue, but it’s a gradual affair. Hux likes the paleness under his palms, and he lowers his head to lick over a nipple, flicking at it before wrapping his lips and sucking. His palms push the man’s pecs together, enjoying the bunched muscle below.

“ _Mark me_ ,” Kylo begs. “ _Make it last_.”

Even here? Where it has to be more sensitive? He wants bruises over his chest?

Hux looks up, and sees the enthusiastic consent on Kylo’s face. His eyes beg, and Hux can’t possibly deny a face like that, can he? He pushes harder, and seals his lips around the left areola. He forms a tight seal, gulping, lapping, suckling and tugging. It’s a matter of principle, now, and as Kylo tries to thrash under him, he growls a command to _stop_.

Which he _does_. Shaking, almost bucking, but he stops the frantic movement and simply runs hands into Hux’s hair. Hux decides that’s adequate, and lifts to see the darkening bruise over the dusky skin.

“You’re the most gorgeous thing I ever saw,” he murmurs.

“Don’t….”

“I mean it, Kylo. Look into my head if you’re not sure. I know you’re self-conscious, but… damn.” He wants to reassure him, he does. Kylo has absolutely no reason to worry about how attractive he is, and he drops to the other nipple to punish his panic with his mouth.

The guttural purring underneath him is gloriously sinful, sending shocks of it through his lips and down his spine. Kylo’s getting furiously hard at the touches, and his groin is mostly crushed under Hux right now. He bounces a little on top of him, making more noises burst out, and then shimmies backwards to below his hips.

“You really want me to mark you?” he asks, then wipes his lips on the back of one hand.

More nods.

“If you insist…” His nails push in above clavicles, then he scrapes hot lines over the swell of his chest, over his heaving flanks, down to his hips. 

Kylo screams, and promises and begs without words. He’s so turned on right now, and they’re both still dressed from the waist down. The nail-scratches are an open invitation for him to go lower, the skin welting just lightly from the attention.

So much for making full use of all this bedding. They could roll all over, and instead Hux has him pinned like a butterfly, trembling and frothing. “I want to eat you alive.”

“N-no objection here.”

Hux pulls his belt free (his Twi’lek friend was right, after all), and smiles as Kylo offers his wrists for binding. “Good boy,” he coos, as he cinches them tight together. “You lie back. What we do—”

Kylo nods, and nods, and nods. He’d agree to almost anything right now, wouldn’t he?

Hux pulls out his cock, and moves up to sit astride his face. He guides it straight in, then starts to slowly fuck Kylo’s mouth. The Knight mumbles messily, slurping and taking it all. His cheeks bellow slightly, and Hux wonders how raw his throat would feel if he… well. If he suddenly started to rut into him in earnest.

Kylo’s mouth starts to get wetter, drool gathering and leaking out. His eyes go watery and red as he struggles to take it all, his nose a snuffly mess as Hux takes his frustrated lust out on him. So fucking good. So, so good. He pushes all the way in, then holds Kylo’s face there until he can feel him struggling underneath him. Doesn’t let go – just to see – and by the time he thinks Kylo’s had enough, the man is hacking and spluttering the minute his cock breaks out from the slick embrace.

“I don’t want to ruin our clothes,” he says, as his thumb slides over those swollen, cock-sucking lips. 

“I’m a little… tied up,” Kylo admits.

“And here was me thinking you could just use the Force,” he replies, a little down his nose, but mostly amused. He stands up, so Kylo gets a ground view as he wriggles out of his pants, tossing them off to one side. 

Kylo doesn’t move, but he wants to. His pants are tight over the leaking bulge below, and Hux gives his own cock a few sharp, experimental tugs. He watches as Kylo’s eyes soften with hope, and then he sinks down to his knees to yank his clothes off, too. 

“I love you,” Kylo blurts out.

“You’re saying that because you’re about to get laid,” Hux teases.

“Am not.” It’s sharp, and slightly stung, but when it’s kissed better, the sorrow and indignation fades as quickly as it came.

“I know you’re not,” Hux agrees, and drapes his legs over Kylo. 

A few abortive rolls, and then he manages to trap both their cocks between them. They slip and slide against each other as he grinds up and down, the friction not enough, but oh so good. Kylo whimpers and slams his hands down into the cushions, so…

Hux kneels up, then grabs Kylo’s full shaft in one hand and starts to pump it. Fast, twisting strokes that are designed to get him as quickly to the edge as possible, then let him ease back down through lack of stimulation. Over, and over. Close to the brink, then down to panting. 

It’s torture on him, too, but it’s worth it for the babbling it gets him. Promises and offers and things that go beyond those. Kylo wants to get off, and he won’t until Hux allows it. It’s simple.

When he thinks Kylo might actually pass out before he’s of any _real_ use, he relents and adjusts. With some shifting, he takes his own cock in his other hand, then lines them up to lie together. It means he has to weave both of his hands around them, but he can stroke them at the same time like this. 

And it’s. It’s. _Magnificent._ The slide of it, the way he’s sure he can feel Kylo’s pulse thud next to his prick. The little twitches, and the absolutely _pornographic_ moans from his partner… Hux is mad with the power of it, and when he meets Kylo’s eyes…

He’s. He’s supposed to.

He’s supposed to wait. To do it properly.

He is.

He’s.

“ _Marry me_?” Hux asks, as he beats them like they’ll die if they don’t come soon.

“ **Yes** ,” Kylo calls, wounded and loving and utterly, utterly convinced.

On an inflatable, expanding mattress. In the back of a ship. Naked and not in full possession of their faculties…

… _but he said yes, before. He said yes, so this is just the formalisation of it. This is just…_

“Need to…” his – his – _fiancé_ begs.

And Hux can’t deny him, nodding furiously as he tries to use his thumbs, milking over the length of him, squeezing up along his prick and pinching just below the crown.

“Come for me. _Come_.”

Kylo _screams_ in bliss, his climax a messy, furious affair: just like him. Hux isn’t far behind, but he manages two – three – more jerks before his own orgasm hits. It’s sharp and fast, like breaking orbit at speed, and it makes his ass-cheeks and thighs burn as he mingles their come together, stroking it back over them both. Pushing through the barrier that begs him to stop, keeping the stimulation up until it’s _agony_.

He shouldn’t really have done that. Should he? Ask him, in mid-coitus? Worry crosses his brow, but when he tries to read Kylo’s face… he sees nothing but absolute joy and ecstasy. He doesn’t feel pressurised, and his belted wrists move to drop around the back of Hux’s neck.

“Y-you could have… asked me weeks ago,” Kylo admits, blushingly shy. 

“Really?”

A nod. And a swallow. “You don’t regret it?”

“How could I? Fuck. I love you so much, I just… really?”

“Really. I want to. I want _you_. All of you. Forever, Hux.”

He kisses him like crazy, kisses his happiness and content back into his mouth.

Fuck, but he’s found the perfect man in the whole galaxy. It’s like he was made just for him. 


	37. Chapter 37

“So, this next place…”

“Training facility.”

“You’re sure the co-ordinates are right?”

“They can’t just… move a base this big. Not… not easily,” Kylo says, some doubt creeping into his tone.

“And this isn’t too big a target for us?”

“Are we really worrying about scope? I thought you wanted to _win_ this war. My parents and uncle brought down a Death Star with basically a single X-Wing.”

“…and that’s not a tough act to follow,” Hux drolls. Everyone’s heard the story, with various levels of embellishments. It comes down to the Force, and to those three. 

Even if there’s hundreds upon thousands of other heroes, and even if he’s met several of them. You heard about Luke Skywalker, about Leia, Han, Chewie. You _might_ hear about Wedge Antilles, but if you weren’t part of the core Rebellion (or the aftermath), would you know Admiral Ackbar? Nien Nunb? Biggs Darklighter?

It wasn’t just Luke Skywalker’s incredible shot. It was that, and so much more.

How many names hasn’t he found out? How many more hasn’t he picked up? How many won’t get remembered this time?

It’s a chilling, sobering thought. Hux would quite like to be remembered, but he would also like to be around to see the aftermath. Do you do the things that could take you down in that blaze of glory, or do you play it safer to continue on? 

How much does he want that Big Damn Hero medal hung around his neck by his future mother-in-law? 

But Kylo will do these things, with or without him. He saw it, back in the shipyards. Saw how _alive_ he became, saw how much he was capable of. Saw how happy it made him to succeed.

And Kylo is needed in this war, just as much as Luke and Rey are. Between the three of them, they stand a chance at taking down Snoke. And once Snoke is gone, the Order – he’s sure – will crumble.

For a few years, anyway.

After all, the Empire evolved. Scuttering in the gutters. Evolving on scraps and in the shadows.

But there was peace before, so there can be peace again. Right?

***

Hux does not want to know how Kylo got his hands on so many thermal detonators. Seriously. The man has only been out of the Order for – how long? Not long enough to rekindle, or forge new links to underworld bosses that would equip him with this kind of arsenal without going back to base.

Actually, Hux doesn’t recall seeing this many detonators _on_ the base, even if he never went into the armoury proper. 

“Did you pay for these?” he asks, as they sneak between the (sparse, poorly staggered) security cameras to set up the diversionary blast site. 

Trigger that first, scramble people to fix and fortify, then blow the ‘lower’ priority hole and enter through there. It’s genius, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. Apparently he has a knack for psychological warfare which he’s blaming on his father.

A good way to repay the debt.

“Did you ever have to sit through the sessions?” Hux asks, as he primes the last device. “Or did you have different training?”

“Most of it was different. It was… it was Snoke, and his Dark Side teachings. But I did get a few mandatory sessions of the Bigger Picture. You know, ‘how you are part of one, glorious whole’.”

“You mean the ‘glorious _hole_ ’,” he corrects, as they pull back to follow the perimeter line from a distance. “Oh, I remember that one. I had to be careful not to laugh. I never had to go through the extensive, soul-destroying things the ground troops had.”

“You were destined to lead them, not be lead,” Kylo reminds him. “It’s why I had different training, too. Probably why we could break free: we had enough of our own agency left. We were supposed to make some decisions, to judge, react, lead.”

“You know, you’re probably right.”

It’s a fine line, isn’t it? Encouraging the rank structure and your place in it, but grooming some to take responsibility. Those low enough down can always deny knowing for real what they were doing, can brush it all off as ‘orders’, but the ones who had to think somewhat for themselves… 

“I don’t want to kill them,” Hux says, suddenly. “The people inside.”

“You know the majority will just try to join back up?”

“The _majority_. But they’ve never had a chance to do anything else. Have they?”

Kylo stares. And stares. “You want… I got it. I _got it_.”

“What?”

“How good are you on holo?”

***

As predicted, the first explosions send people scattering to the small hole, shoring it up and buzzing around to look for the perpetrators. Hux and Kylo are already pressed up against the other wall – a few feet away from the future hole number two – and a silent countdown of headnods leads them into the _kboomtschhsz_ and acrid smoke that covers their entrance into the unit.

They really need to make these places stronger. If it wasn’t for the sheer weight of numbers, the First Order couldn’t possibly hold up against the Resistance. They just really don’t know what they’re doing, do they? 

Money. Money to build their ships. Apathy of people not wanting to face them down. But really, what empire can’t be toppled by a few lynchpins and weight-bearing struts being removed? 

Kylo leads him through the building, and Hux holds his weapon ready; ready to fire on anyone who looks too like they’ll shoot _them_. They’ve attacked during the night cycle, so most of the troopers-in-training are in their cots, in their barracks.

This doesn’t need them to get face to face with them, though; that’s the beauty of the last step. Kylo pulls him into one of the rooms where one of the supervisors is cowering under the desk. So much for instilling the right qualities in future ground-troops, huh, if they can’t lead by example.

“Come out,” Hux orders in his Superior Officer voice. 

“… _please don’t k—_ ”

Kylo ducks down, and grabs them by the shirt. Pulls them out, and lefts them bodily with that one hand, letting them hang from his grip. It’s impressive, and meant to intimidate.

It’s working.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks Kylo.

“I was thinking brute Force—”

“ _Please, Maker, no—_!”

It’s fascinating to watch. It’s also _horrifying_ , knowing how easily Kylo can rob someone of their will. Knowing how utterly he can control someone. The light just _goes_ in their gaze, and the man flops, vacant and empty. Like a droid unprogrammed, barely breathing and only then because it’s instinct.

“Is that hard?” Hux asks, curious.

“Not really. Some people are harder than others,” Kylo admits. 

“And you could really make them do…?”

Kylo nods.

“Okay. Remind me never to piss you off.” He’s making light of it, but it’s a real worry. Not that he doesn’t trust Kylo to leave his will to himself, but because Kylo could be beyond _his_ own control, and therein lies a world of terrible what-ifs. 

Kylo doesn’t seem to take offence, and the puppeteered instructor logs into the terminal. Hux steps in to insert his small dongle, uploading his ‘one I made earlier’ holo to sits snugly inside the training packages. 

It won’t show up as an alert, because it isn’t hacked in. It’s just slipped in alongside existing holo-lessons, there for the eyes that attend sessions in future.

A brief message calling them to freedom, to arms. It won’t play immediately, the effect won’t be instantaneous, but it will cause discord, if not outright rebellion. A manifesto of resistance and opposition, of freedom and choice, snuck in between mandated dogma.

Maybe it won’t cause any more defections, but it’s giving them a choice. It’s giving them a hope, beyond what their blinkered helmets offer. Something more than straight ahead.

“Done?”

“Done,” Hux confirms. “Now let’s make it look like we came for those weapons stores, so they don’t do a full audit.”

“Blaster-shopping. You do know how to treat a guy.”

***

“We should probably go in for a briefing,” Kylo says, as they hurtle through hyperspace. “You know.”

“Are you referring to our personal situation, not our mission reports?” Hux asks, holding Kylo’s left hand in his own. 

“You know if we don’t go back and tell her, she’ll try to murder me, right?”

General Leia Organa – for all her diminutive stature – is by far the scariest person in Kylo’s family.

Scarier, even, than Kylo himself. Or Chewbacca. And those two could rip his body in half in a game of tug-of-war. “So… we don’t just elope, and ask for honeymoon gifts? Or invite her to the wedding the day before?”

Kylo’s long nose paints a slightly cold ‘no’ along his neck. “You don’t want that. You want… a big thing?”

“I wouldn’t say… I don’t know. Honestly, I never considered I’d find someone I could spend excessive amounts of time with, let alone the rest of my life, give or take.”

Which does he want? Big would mean lots of people, and most people know _Kylo_ (or old-Ben), not _him_. Then there’s the eyes on him, and the extravagance, and the necessary expenditure and strain.

(But also… there’s the _eyes on him_ , and the _extravagance._ They count as both pros and cons.)

“I didn’t think I’d marry, either. Brought up Jedi, remember?” Kylo points out. “So I’m happy with whatever. We could have a shotgun wedding, supervised by Lando Calrissian, and I’d be over the moon.”

Hux smirks, and rolls himself over to snuggle on top of Kylo’s chest, grabbing his shoulders and sliding slowly up and down. Not intending to provoke much, just for the feel of it. The hands that grab his ass and guide him harsher against him are all too welcome. “So, we could just find a ship’s Captain?”

“Yeah. Don’t see why not.”

“Your father?”

“Or my mother, as General. I bet both count.”

Hux snorts, and kisses the side of his mouth. “Can I think about it?” Considering he proposed, it’s a bit unfair to demand everything becomes his choice, but he watches Kylo’s face soften with relief.

“Sure.”

“We have a few hours… do you want to rehearse what you say to your mother, or…?”

Kylo does his best to look sultry. From this angle, it’s mostly nose, instead of eyelashes. Hux still thinks he’s adorable, and arches up to kiss said cute nose. 

“I was thinking I ask her how many holiday days you get for your wedding and honeymoon, isn’t that going to work?”

Hux almost chokes on his laugh. “…it’s one way of doing it.”

***

Apparently it’s also the way Kylo wants to do it. 

They’re all huddled around in the lounge, draped over various soft furnishings, nursing mugs of caf as they arrived a few hours after acceptable calling time, but Leia still insisted on seeing them.

“…there isn’t a convention,” she says, her eyes scooting left and right over their faces.

Hux is sure his cheeks match his cut: redder than a low-Tatooine sun. “Well, how much notice do we need to give?”

“…of your honeymoon, or of your ceremony?”

“I thought they were normally pretty much consecutive, no?” Kylo doesn’t go red. Somehow.

Chewie breaks the silence first. He roars in congratulations, then walks right over and wraps an arm around each of them. He smells of engine oil and soap, and Hux can’t help but burrow into the embrace for a moment. There’s no discomfort, just joy in his congratulations.

When the Wookie steps back, he’s greeted by a small General standing right in his face. 

“Are you going to hug your future mother-in-law, or do I have to sit on your damn lap?” she asks, with her arms out.

Hux laughs nervously, his hug of her much more stiff and formal, right up until he feels the way she wobbles because she’s standing up so tall, stretching her legs. He stoops a little for her, and her grip tightens.

“I knew you’d be good for one another,” she whispers in his ear. “Didn’t think _this_ good. But I’m glad.”

“I’m honoured you approve, G—uh, Ma’a—”

“You can call me Leia, when we’re not in public,” she tells him, and then steps back.

Apparently it’s time to swap, because Han’s letting go of Kylo and scooting behind his wife. Hux waits for the signal of what to expect, but it doesn’t come. Or, rather: five come, none of them strong enough to be the leader, and then there’s an awkward wrist-to-forearm grip, and a hand that slaps his shoulder that he doesn’t dare echo.

“You’re a good kid. Bit weird, but who isn’t in this family? Reckon if you were normal you’d go mad.”

Han Solo’s assessment. It’s… sincere, if nothing else.

“It’s a nice family, all the same… Han.” He tests the name out, ready to withdraw the familiarity at a moment’s notice.

“I’d warn you not to hurt him, but I hear you already both got that out of your systems anyway. Normally you _rescue_ the princess from the cell.” Han rolls his eyes.

“Dad… he did,” Kylo insists, pulling away from his mother so she leans to one side, and the other hand reaches out for Hux’s. “He did save me.”

“Who else knows?” the smuggler asks, changing the subject.

“No one,” Kylo confirms. “I’d like to tell Poe. And Rey and Luke once they get back. But once I’ve told Poe, I don’t mind you discussing it, if Hux doesn’t?”

“You kidding? I want _everyone_ to know. If they want to know, I mean…” He doesn’t want to be That Guy. The one rubbing it in everyone’s faces. Gloating over his happiness. But so they know? Sure.

Chewie complains no one is hugging him, and he watches as Leia goes over to rectify that. “I know. Our son, all grown up,” she tells him, cuddling in close. Han rubs a hand over her back, the three of them utterly comfortable together.

The Wookie nods, a rattle that’s equal parts nostalgia and excitement colouring his words.

“…c’mon. We’re opening a bottle,” Han says. “I don’t care. Leia, you got the good stuff hidden?”

“When do I not?” she replies her eyes glittering laughing.

It went so, so much better than Hux could ever have hoped. He’s… he’s _family_ , now. And he isn’t afraid, or not enough. They _want him here_. He waits for Han and Leia to go looking for refreshments before he pulls Kylo in to kiss his cheek.

“Bit late to back out now, Ren.”

“If you think I’m backing out of us, you need your head examining. _Hux_.”

Yeah. He would.


	38. Chapter 38

It turns out Hux has the least durasteel liver of all of them. He can understand Kylo’s metabolism working through alcohol like a knife through butter, and maybe even Gen—uh, _Leia_ using the Force to keep on top (diminutive stature aside). And okay, so he shouldn’t ever have expected he could go up against a smuggler, but… man. They’re all acting like they’ve not touched a drop, and he’s feeling head-swimmy and blurry. Only the weight against his side is holding him up.

Leia Organa is a fucking _hoot_ when she’s drunk. Or so Hux thinks. He keeps having to slap his hand over his mouth at her cutting, subtle humour. Han is so out of his depth, and Hux wonders if the man knows it.

He’s cheerily telling them the tale of their courtship and wedding, in tales that sound like they get taller with every telling. Leia occasionally snipes a strut from them, and even Kylo asks ‘I thought there were only three of them’, making him fluster and backtrack.

Hux can’t help but wonder if they’ll ever be like this: an old, married couple still fighting the good fight, but regaling the youth with the edited highlights of their escapades.

“He’s just excited you haven’t heard these stories twenty times already,” Kylo whispers in his ear. 

“Well, I’m enjoying listening.”

“You say that now, but on the five millionth time…”

“Look, kiddo, I fought for your freedom and safety,” Han huffs as he realises they aren’t listening.

Leia snorts. “Oh, please. Mostly you fought for me and Luke.”

“…that was _part of it_ ,” Han retorts, turning on his wife.

Chewie seems to agree with Leia, and slaps Han on the back. 

“You do have a sense of what’s right and wrong, but you’re far too easily swayed by personal affection, first,” Leia reminds him. She pinches his cheek, and then kisses him quickly. “Which means your sacrifices didn’t come naturally to you, which means they’re worth more.”

“You… always know what to say, huh?”

“That’s why I’m your wife.”

Hux thinks he could do a lot worse than emulate those two. Although, he’d rather not have the long hiatus in the middle.

“When did you realise you were in love?” he asks.

“…you never told him?” Han asks his wife and son, incredulous.

“Why would I, when you love to tell this story, too? It would be remiss of me to stop you having the chance to do it yourself.”

Han gulps down his glass. “Right. So. It all starts with this wise-guy from the Desilijic clan. Jabba. You heard of him?”

Everyone has heard of him. Hux watches Leia call Kylo wordlessly off to the kitchen as he listens to the tale for himself.

It is surprisingly more normal – if a little more dangerous – than he would have expected.

***

“You got the Kessel Run story, the Ord Mantell story, the Bespin, _Falcon_ , Chewie and… am I missing anything?”

“…the Death Stars?”

“Yes. The Death Stars.”

“…it was interesting,” Hux argues. “Hearing it firsthand.”

“You weren’t just trying to make him accept you?”

“Kylo, you might have grown up around heroes, but I grew up—”

Brown eyes expand almost to fill the room. “…sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He cups his boyf—his _fiancé’s_ face. “I just enjoyed hearing it. No ulterior motive. I’m sorry if it bored you, but it was interesting to me. And no doubt it will bore me, too, and we can be bored together.”

“Well, Dad now loves you. You won’t be able to do much wrong for at least a week.”

“And your mother?”

“She already loved you, you nerf.”

Hux’s smile gets so wide his face hurts, and he wriggles against Kylo’s side. “Really?”

“You really don’t… hell. She liked you even before you brought me back, or she wouldn’t have trusted you to try. You do realise, right?”

“But she barely knew me.”

“She knew enough. And she’s always been a good judge of character. Probably the Force.”

Hux pushes his hot face into Kylo’s neck. “We’re really doing this.”

“Unless you have cold feet?”

He punches his hip, avoiding his stomach so as not to induce nausea. “Of course I don’t.”

“Then yes. We’re doing this. You. Me.”

Hux holds him as tightly as he dares. “If we ever adopt, don’t you dare tell them I tortured you into loving me.”

“I promise nothing.”

***

Surprisingly, he doesn’t wake with a hangover. He does appreciate past-Hux, who put glasses of water out for them. He only has to roll over to fill his mouth against the slake, and then he can huddle back under the covers. 

Or. Or he can pause. He can pause, and see Kylo sleeping peacefully. His face slack with no worry in the galaxy, his nose snorting tiny sounds of life. Hux stalls to watch, admiring him even now.

He is glorious to look at, it’s true. Not that his physical form is the main reason he fell in love, but it’s nice all the same. His face shifts and planes as if sharpening to cutting points. His lips that beg for kisses, his ears that want holding down and in place as his throat is abused. His little crinkle between his brows when he’s confused or fighting amusement. The faintest trail of dark-stars on pale-sky. The way his cheeks suck in and then expand…

Hux could stare forever. He runs fingers a breath away from his lips, feeling the brush of exhaled air. 

He could wake up like this every day until he died and be happy. Even when his hair streaks more grey than black. Even when lines crease a permanent after-smile and after-frown. Even when they’re beyond the fiercest fires… he loves _him_.

Him.

Not what he looks like, but the love he has makes what he sees even fonder. He can’t help himself, leaning in to push his lips into his jaw. Tiny, non-marking little suckles of his skin, and he laves with his tongue after each mark. Across the curve of bone, under to the soft space above his throat. Kylo stirs, but doesn’t fully wake, a sleepy moan of appreciation vibrating through the column of his neck.

 _Shhh_ , Hux kisses into him, and is pleased when Kylo’s face cracks into a smile. A real, wide, face-splitting smile. One side goes up faster than the other, and his eye twitches through the reminders of sleep. 

Kylo’s hands move, inexpertly and dreamily, like he’s trying to move them through the fog in his mind, butting gently against him as they finally come to a rest on his shoulders. 

“Don’t move. No matter what. Don’t. _Move_.”

“Yes,” the Knight whispers, once his lips properly part. They’re cracked, and Hux is sure they both reek of the booze.

But he’s too sleepy-happy to care.

Neither of them are wearing shirts (Kylo burns so warm in bed that Hux just doesn’t need one), and so his little kisses from one clavicle to the other nipple are impeded only by his slightly stiff joints that haven’t cracked awake, yet. He lowers his head to use his hair as a weapon, dusting it across his chest until Kylo yelps and his heels kick in outright protest. Hux smirks, and thunks his chin into Kylo’s belly.

“What was that?”

“You _bastard_ ,” Kylo complains, fighting a smile that opens his eyes fully, now. 

“You want me to leave?”

“Did I say th— AUGH!”

Hux tickles him some more, his fingers dancing over Kylo’s sides, until the man thrashes and whines below him, and it takes two hands on his hips to keep him from bucking Hux right off the bed. He grabs his waistband, and pulls it ever lower.

“Hold onto the headboard, or I’ll belt your hands there.”

“What if I want you to?”

“It means more if you do it because I _told you to_.”

He sees realisation dawn, and then a smack of both hands up, and out of the way. “Yes _Sir_.”

Better. He ends up throwing the covers almost off the bed as he pulls the loose bedclothes down, baring slightly hairy legs and a very happy groin. Kylo doesn’t need _much_ to trigger a reaction, not from Hux. He smirks at the sight of it, and runs his palms over the flinching, flexing stomach. Skirts everywhere but where Kylo wants him to, dancing over his thighs, down to near his knees and back up again.

“You’re such a greedy little slut for me, aren’t you?”

“ _Only_ for you,” Kylo replies, defensively. 

“Only for me?” He knows it, but it’s still nice to hear it. He dances his fingers over the jut of his cock, following the thrum of a vein, chasing to the red flare of the tip. 

Kylo nods so much so he must be dizzy. His arms whipcord as they hold onto the bed, his spine arching like a sine-wave, offering more of his lap to the man between his thighs.

“No one else ever made you come?”

Kylo shakes his head, a frown that looks like thunder.

“You want to come for me, now?”

More nodding, and a piano-gut crow of lust. 

Hux concedes the point, using the palm of his hand to hold his cock mostly still. Dainty, delicate flashes of his tongue that trace grooves and lines. He drags the silky skin over the shaft, teasing in his precision. Kylo’s noises are even more confused in response, and Hux loves this.

He has the power, right here. Kylo will lie and let him lick and lap and suck until he no longer wants to do so, won’t he? He’ll suffer, blissfully suffer, until Hux deigns to allow his release. He grins, and rubs the slick tip against his cheek.

“Why do you like it so much?”

“…huh?”

“Giving me control.”

Kylo doesn’t like the question, because his brow furrows. “Why do you like taking it?”

He starts to use just his thumb, pushing and kneading. “You look so beautiful when you do what I ask you to. You’re so powerful, and you’ll do anything I ask of you.”

“I… like… to do it. To… please… _ahhh yes_ – **you** , to… to… be good for you… to… to know I can’t fuck things up…”

Hux’s hand stills. “Why would you fuck things up?”

“…I dunno. I just. I feel… safer. When… when you…”

He leans down, kissing just the tip of his nose. “You wouldn’t fuck this up, Kylo. We’re stronger than that. And you? Are beautiful. And kind. And—”

“Please, _don’t_.” 

The pain is raw and rough, and Hux frowns. “What?”

“Don’t… I can’t…”

“You can. You _will_.” He tightens his hand around his cock, starting to stroke it with slow, harsh gestures. “You _are_ kind.”

Kylo makes a whining noise, turning his head in rejection. His body’s trembling, and Hux isn’t wholly sure what he’s planning will work, but damnit, he has to try. 

“Beautiful. Strong. Fierce. Giving. **Brave**.”

“Hux!”

“You look in my head _right this instant, Kylo_.”

He doesn’t, so Hux arches up to get right in his face. His expression brooks no argument, and then there’s a familiar tickle of Kylo’s thoughts bubbling into his head. Uncertain, unsure, and upset. Hux glances a palm against his cheek, trying to soothe him.

“You can worry all you like, but if you trust me, you trust my judgement. And you trust me when I say: you’re _good_. You’re not what happened to you. You’re _stronger_. You’re **_stronger_** _._ You’re wonderful. And I want to make you see yourself as I see you.”

“Hux, I don’t know that I—”

“ _Do it_.”

He knows what he’s demanding, of course he does. What he’s not expecting is how the contact overwhelms his sense of ‘up’ and ‘down’. He’s both on top, and below. Looking back at himself looking back at himself. For a moment, the mirrored vision threatens to drive him mad, then there’s a snap of focus, and he can tell which ‘him’ is him, again.

“Sorry.”

He feels the way guilt swells, like the reverse of a bathtub draining. A swirl upwards, filling out from below, and it hurts to know… “Don’t be. It’s…”

He can hear himself talking, and feel it happening, too.

“Look at how I feel about you.” Focus on the goal.

“I shouldn’t need to…”

“But you do.”

He feels himself opened up again, feels the fingers and sense of self weave through him, and the unbelieving shock. 

“You’re wonderful,” Hux says again. “And you’re not going to fuck up. I like to control you _because_ I respect you. And I respect your submission even more.”

Bright eyes blink owlishly at him. “I surrender because I respect _you_ ,” Kylo says. “Because I trust you. Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

Like others did. That much goes unsaid, but it is there, heavy and ponderous, all the same.

“I will never hurt you,” Hux promises. “Not intentionally.”

“I know,” Kylo replies. “Can we…?”

He nods, and the connection fades, like a dimmer switch. He can still feel Kylo, like a curled krayt-dragon around the edges of his mind. A hand, held; and not a whole-body hug. It’s much more bearable, and he smiles. 

“Stay down, Kylo.” His hands move to hold his hips gently, his tongue back out to lick him from balls to crown. Slow, flat-tongued sweeps that taste as they go. He makes his tongue firm, then soft, squirming against him as he laps his cock into his belly. 

Kylo struggles, but relents underneath him. His mind and body are one, one twitching, needing wreck. Over and over, licking and slurping his way to push Kylo into complete obedience. Normally he’ll use harsher methods, but if he can suck the man into hyperspace? Sure, he’s gonna do it. 

He loves the way the man’s prick bounces in response. How it seems to almost wag and beg for more, how it flinches and stiffens and tastes of salt and lust. Hux wraps his mouth around and sinks as far as his throat will allow, grabbing for the bottle under the pillows.

Kylo doesn’t seem to notice, not until Hux has his fingers lubed and ready. He swipes three between his cheeks, bending the middle one, nudging it into his hole. He’s still relaxed from sleep, but it’s by no means easy to finger him wider. He bends it harder, using the knuckle to ease at the tight ring, up until Kylo’s hisses get a little harsher, and then he lets the tension bleed out before trying again.

His lips and tongue work a little less gracefully with his hands full, but his hand guides Kylo through the edges of his arousal, taking their time to flex and knot and knead in his lover’s dark places. Two in, and they angle to rub against that little gland inside, never staying for long. Kylo never tries to move his hands, his mind utterly under, utterly within his thrall. Gasps, begging notes, and a body that surges between face and fingers. He rides over the pleasure with grace, and Hux lifts his head from his ministrations.

“Do you want to come like this?”

“Whatever… whatever you want.”

Fuck, but that’s hot. “You want to come on my dick?”

“ _Whatever you want_.”

Hux wants that. He kisses his belly, prick, balls, thighs. Keeps the fingers gliding, as he moves. Strokes him until he can’t really reach, and then pulls his fingers out. He pushes his pants down, and sits up against the head of the bed.

“I want you to ride me,” he says.

Kylo looks broken, struggling to obey, his body barely lucid, and his mind even less. He lurches awkwardly astride him, almost falling until Hux puts steadying hands on his waist. He’s so far under right now, and when he sinks down (Hux’s hand in place to guide him down, over his cock) Hux wonders if Kylo even has the mental ability to ride him like he wants.

He shouldn’t have worried, though. Even delirious as he is, his Knight can move. It’s jagged, and jolting, and he can see Kylo’s cock arcing through the air with every awkward slam down. Tight, and hot, and slick. Walls that clutch him as Kylo does everything to make it good, whimpering despite himself as he holds onto Hux’s shoulders and moves with all he has, all he is.

Kylo is like that, though. He loves so deeply that sense is gone. He loves so fiercely that he forgets his limits. He’d break himself in two on his dick if he could, if he thought Hux would like it. The angle is a little odd, and the fact he has to sit back and let Kylo do the movement is a torture exquisite. He grabs hold of his lover’s cock, stroking it in synch with his bouncy lift-and-falls. It’s still a little slick from before, and that makes it easier. 

It makes Kylo _whimper,_ and nearly collapse as he goes faster. Between hand and dick, chasing and chasing and Hux benefits twice over. He grips harder, chokingly hard, and he can feel the furious arousal blazing through his fiancé.

But he won’t. He won’t come, not unless he’s forced – or asked – to. Will he? 

“Tell me.”

“….loveyou?” Kylo stumbles out.

“ _Tell me_.”

“LoveyouloveyouI’myoursI’myours…”

“ ** _Tell me_**.” The power high is so sharp as to be precarious, the knowledge all culminating in one, glorious spike that cuts through them both.

“I’m _yours_ I’m ** _yours_**.”

Kylo’s movements are frenetic and mad, his hole tight and pulling with every slam down onto him. Impaled, cut through the middle. Their movements perfectly in synch, and their needs just as tightly bound.

“ _You’re perfect_ ,” Hux snaps, almost angry. “Now: come for me.” 

The praise so earnestly given snaps Kylo in two, and he grabs hold of Hux’s hair as he rides out the last moments of his pleasure. His face snaps through emotions as fast as he feels them: so open, now. So open for him to see, when he’d hidden from the world. He’s Hux’s, now. Even the darker bits, even those. The hot spatter of his release catches on his chest, marking him as Kylo’s owner right before he marks Kylo as _owned_.

Owned, deep inside. A grunt, a closing of eyes, and a climax that drips down his cock and out of Kylo’s abused, loved hole. Seeps out, through the cracks. Too much to keep inside.

Kylo collapses against him, and Hux finds arms that try to hug, giving him ones that _can_ in return.

“You’re perfect,” he repeats, and he means it. “And you’re mine. And I’ll never let people hurt you again.”

He’s not sure if the wetness against his shoulder is tears of joy or relief. Maybe both. Kylo’s always needy and vulnerable after an intense session, and this was certainly that. It doesn’t even need to be pain or anything really rough to get him there. 

“I’m sorry,” Kylo whispers.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Hux reminds him, all too happy to do it. He strokes as they settle into a half-comfortable position, combing his hair, ruffling over his nape. “Nothing at all, but if you did, I’d forgive you.”

“I’m sorry that I’m sorry,” Kylo says, then.

And what do you say to that? He kisses his temple, and rocks him. “I know, I know. But I still love you. Okay? I do.”

Kylo shudders, and Hux whispers at him to use the Force to grab the blanket. He does, and they slide down so Kylo can rest across his chest. He’s heavy, but he knows if he leaves him bodily now, Kylo will get distressed. Instead, he strokes where his cock slips into his body, reminding him of their connection. Not just physical, but it helps.

“It’s okay,” Hux reassures him. “You and me. All the way.”

“Forever?”

“And always.” He means it, and Kylo… rakes across the sincerity, relaxing as he feels it confirmed. 

Hux doesn’t mind. It reassures him, too, that Kylo can tell for them both when he’s telling the truth. It means he isn’t lying to himself, either. Maybe for the first time in a very long time.


	39. Chapter 39

After a pleasantly lazy brunch, Hux and Kylo saunter to the main intel hub, ready to load up on potential targets for their next wave of attacks. 

Hux can’t help but feel calm and relaxed. He’s engaged to Kylo. His parents seem to approve of it. He’s getting regular, mind-blowing sex, and frankly… he’s never felt better. 

It’s all he can do not to just saunter around with his hand on Kylo’s back, waist, or in his pocket. Or holding his. To keep the contact constantly there, like a thread winding them together. He just feels this bubbling warmth expanding, and he doesn’t know how much PDA is too much PDA?

“Oh, hey,” Poe says, smiling over at them. “Didn’t know you guys were back already. You coming to the briefing?”

“Didn’t know one was called,” Hux replies.

“Poe… before we go in?”

“Yeah?”

This is when Kylo tells him, and the whole base finds out. Hux wants to commit this to memory, like the whole of last night. 

“Me and Hux… uh…”

“Yeah?” The man looks so genuinely hopeful, his brows raising from his eyes and then wiggling in anticipation. 

“We’re… getting married,” Kylo concludes.

Whereupon Poe launches himself at the gap between them, an arm around each, hugging them tightly. “Congratulations! Man, I am _so_ happy for you!”

Hux smiles, and waits for Poe to stop touching him. It doesn’t burn, but he’d still like it to stop. “Thank you,” he says, as graciously as he can manage.

“Oh, wow. Like… who knows?” the pilot asks, as he pulls away.

“My parents and Chewie. I was thinking you might… help spread the word. A man of your connections.”

“Hell, I’ll scream it in the briefing, if it isn’t – you know – mood inappropriate.” Poe looks between them, his cheeks rosy. “So, so happy for you guys.”

He really just is too nice, but Hux can kind of take it today.

“Maybe not that brash,” Kylo mutters, and they go in.

Which is when – from one look at Ematt’s face – Hux knows it’s serious. The man isn’t the most joyful of people anyway, but he looks positively dour right now. They lock eyes – a moment of unspoken communication – and Hux guides his fiancé over to stand near him.

“What is it?”

“You’ll hear in a minute, but they’re ramping up.”

“…why?”

“It’s… me, isn’t it?” Kylo asks. “Now I’m outright attacking, and not just lost, Snoke… he’s… he’s going to push things through at breakneck speed.”

Hux feels his face get cold, and a weird comb of poison-spikes prick down his spine. “Could he have felt Luke?”

“We’re not sure.” Ematt winces. “There’s not many sources we have inside, and it’s a lot of sifting through scraps of intel and trying to ignore the false reports. L…Lord Ren, you know—”

“Kylo,” he corrects him.

“Kylo,” Ematt runs with. “You know the Force better than anyone we have here, and you know Snoke. Is it possible?”

The Knight’s tongue flickers out. “It is, I suppose. If so, we probably need to go get Luke and Rey back, even if they don’t feel they’re ready.”

Hux chews the inside of his cheek. This is stepping up too fast. He’d been lulled into a false sense of security, and now the real fight was about to kick off. And he feels so monumentally unprepared for it. 

“Alright,” General Organa’s voice slices through the air. “Let’s hear what we’ve got.”

***

Once the meeting is over, Kylo isn’t ready to leave. He goes from person to person, asking increasingly obscure and pointed questions, while Hux leans against the war table and tries to find some sense of focus. 

He’s surprised when the first person to approach him is Han. Has he already changed his mind, after the night before? The grim set to his jaw, and the furrows around his eyes are unhappy, but he doubts it’s directed at him.

“You know what he’s gonna want to do, don’t you?” the smuggler-General asks.

“I know a lot of things, but I’m not sure I—”

“Cut the crap, kid. Don’t try playing smart with me… I’ve been around his mom and uncle for long enough to know what they’re like.”

“Isn’t he at least half you, too?” Hux asks, his brow raising as he watches Han’s response.

“Yeah, and I know me better than anyone but Leia and Chewie do, so.” Thumbs in beltloops. Gunbelt adjusted. Not a threat, but a reminder of who he is: a _hero_ , at the end of the day. 

Maybe not a perfect hero. He hadn’t really kept his son safe, had he? And even the tales he told of himself had flaws in. But to the world he was a hero, even if he had his personal failings. 

Hux wonders if he’d be able to pity Brendol Hux, or appreciate _him_ as a flawed individual, if he still had the chance. He doubts it. Han and Leia’s sins were of omission, but the omission wasn’t of love. That was what made it the hardest to bear. It is difficult to hate someone who loves you, even if they fuck you up sincerely. 

But they’ve forgiven Kylo what he did, and so… maybe Kylo forgave them. It isn’t his place to judge, but they won’t ever get unquestioned trust and loyalty, not now.

“So what are you referring to?” Hux asks.

“He’s gonna run off to try take Snoke himself, at some point.”

This is… worryingly close to what many of Hux’s worst nightmares boil down to, now. “Well, what use can I be against Snoke?”

“Maybe not much, but Luke, and the girl?”

“Right. So you’re…”

“Asking you to keep an eye on him, when he tries to go do something damnfool. It’s genetic, or something. And sometimes it works, and other times… you lose a hand, or a planet.”

Hux can’t dispute that. He’d rather no planets were lost, and definitely no limbs, on a more personal scale. Though if Kylo truly wanted to escape, he could. “And when he does try to run off?”

“You make damn sure the people who need to go with, go with.” Han pulls himself up taller, then claps him on the shoulder.

And swaggers off.

Fuck. This… is so very bad.

***

The flight to Ach-To isn’t really that long. The supplies Kylo’s organised onto the ship lends credence to Han’s warning, and he holds onto one of the ceiling straps as Kylo floats the crates in and stores them.

“We’re going after him, aren’t we?”

“We have to. If they’re making a new Death Star, we have to.”

“…you really think we need all of this?”

“No, but… I want to be sure we’re ready for them.”

“With… chips, and freeze-dried rations and… how much ammunition?”

“You need blasters; you don’t have the Force.”

Hux laughs, and wobbles on their mattress-padded floor over to him. “You brought all these weapon packs for me?” 

“I need to keep you safe.” 

His ears are cherry red, so Hux kisses them, and then pulls Kylo’s forehead into his sternum. He cuddles him for a moment, before letting him go.

“You dumb nerf. I’ve got you to keep me safe.”

“…doesn’t hurt to have backup.”

Although Kylo has kitted them out for a fifteen year siege, it feels like.

“We all done, now?”

“One box more…”

He better have packed a lot of lube.

***

Hux just isn’t in the mood for any funny business on the way to get Luke and Rey. It just seems like it would be wrong, or out of place. The wrong kind of tempo. Instead, he finds his hand on Kylo’s as they fly, clasped between them in the gap between their chairs, as they watch the stars fly past.

“You never wanted to try to learn, after you left?”

“I couldn’t. Every time I tried, I heard my father’s voice,” Kylo admits. “And I choked. I couldn’t let people see me so weak, so…”

“Droids? Sims?”

“I… didn’t… want to.” 

Hux looks over. He can see how tense the topic makes him, and he’s in two minds if he should push, or let it lie. A little wiggle, just to see… “I could teach you.”

“You’d end up hating me.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You’ve never seen me try to fly,” Kylo points out.

“No, but I’ve seen enough of you to know you’d get frustrated when it didn’t come naturally, and self-conscious about being watched, and clumsy when under extreme pressure…”

His Knight slumps down into his chair, hands coming up to wrap around his torso. “This is not making me want to learn.” 

“I’m saying I know what’s in store. And no, I haven’t taught anyone. But you’re never going to find someone who is as willing to conceal your weaknesses as I am, are you?”

There’s a very, very drawn out silence. Then a grunt. And a finger, pushing at the nearest button.

He’s being childish, of course, but he will come around in time. It’s a difficult thing to change an aspect of yourself that’s been there for decades, Hux knows. 

“After Snoke?”

“After Snoke.”

Kylo nods, reluctant and bullish, and still keeping his posture defensive.

Hux slants his eyes, and then looks back out to space to be non-threatening. “So. You had a think about what you’re going to teach them?”

“I need… to teach them what they’re going to fight. They need to know what they’re going to face up against. What… what I didn’t know.” 

Yes. Well. Hindsight and all that. “Surely there’s not just things they need to fight _off_ , though?”

“You mean… skills to teach them? To use?”

“It isn’t all defensive, is it?”

“I suppose not. I did guide my Knights, but we didn’t… ever really need to direct our aims, I mean… keep ourselves in check.”

“I doubt that, somehow.” Hux grabs for his waterbottle, taking a swig. “You had mission parameters. Things to limit you. Points you couldn’t go beyond.”

“…yes…”

“So make those moral ones. Make the mission moral. And make the rules of what you won’t do… more important than the method you use to get to your end point.”

Kylo makes a half-laugh. “You’ve never felt the Dark Side, Hux.”

“No. I haven’t. But I have felt rage, and I have felt hatred. If you put Brendol here – or Snoke – and gave me a bat? I’d probably want to beat them until their face exploded, if I could get away with it.”

“Well… the Dark can feel like that. Push you to never want to stop. To just… keep hitting.”

“But you stopped.”

“…did I?”

“You’re not hitting me. You hit _back_ at the Order. And you spared lives. You didn’t seem out of control to me, not since you saved my ass back on that ship.”

“What if he’s waiting? What if he’s just biding his time, until he knows I’m right where I can strike out for good?”

Hux considers this for long, long moments. Fingers on lips, as he lists argument and counter-argument; drawing up a list of pros and cons, and tries to work out which is longer. “You were already in the same room with your parents, and with Luke. If he still _could_ influence you, don’t you think he’d have done it by now?”

“But he’s been… gone. He’s never been gone this long before. It’s…”

All of a sudden: nothing. Silence. Glassy eyes staring straight ahead, for far too long. He watches his lover collapse inwards, under his own gravity. Under memory, and none of it good.  Kylo’s lost in his own mind, unable to process what’s going on around, and outside of him.

“Kylo?”

No response.

“ _Kylo_.”

Still no response. He leans over, gently holds his upper arm, and rocks him back and forth. He doesn’t want to use too much force, doesn’t want to spook him any more than he already is.

“Hey… hey. Listen to my voice. Listen to me, Kylo. You’re safe.”

“Am I?” he whispers. “What if he’s in my head and _I can no longer tell_?”

Hux gets up at once, darting to stand in front of him, pulling Kylo’s face into his chest and enveloping him. He strokes over the back of his head, down his spine, then back up again. “It’s okay. He’s not in your head. You’re with me. You’re with me.”

He repeats it, over and over, his hands a hypnotic pattern to pull him back into his body, into the moment. A rhythm, so he knows what to expect. So he can predict, and have his suspicions confirmed. Something tangible.

“I’m afraid.” Kylo’s voice is small and terrified, buried deep in cloth.

“That’s why we’re going to kill him,” Hux growls, knowing there’s some sins you cannot forgive. Even if – and it was a big if – Snoke ever cared for Kylo. Some things just are beyond that, or they are for him. This is evil. This, not anything either of them have ever done.

What the fuck did he really do to Kylo, to make him this spooked? 

He has an idea he knows.

He wishes he did not.


	40. Chapter 40

Rey and Luke are waiting for them, when they land. They stand side by side, with the small astromech wobbling from leg to leg in front of them and beeping in greeting. 

“You were expecting us?” Hux asks, glancing between the three.

“The Force told us to expect you,” Luke answers. 

“It comms you?” It’s a weak joke, mostly covering over his discomfort with being the only one out of this particular loop. Hux isn’t sure he’d like to see the future, though. There’s plenty he’d like to go about not knowing. (Like, say, his time and method of dying.)

“Are you ready to leave?” Kylo asks, covering over _that_ cover.

“I was hoping we could dock our ships, so we’re all aboard your craft?” 

Which is when Hux sees both of them are carrying small knapsacks. Barely big enough to live out of… and he doubts they’re leaving things behind. It must really have been a frugal nightmare, here. 

And moments later, he realises the expansive mattress in the troop section of their ship will… well… be pretty damn obvious. It’s much too late in the day to suck it back into the packaging discreetly. 

“It’ll be… cramped,” Hux says, weakly.

“It’s okay, we don’t mind.” Rey’s eyes are sure, unblinking. 

Hux wonders if she knows what she’s implying. Being okay with their – well – love nest. Not that it’s a brothel, or reeks of it. They haven’t even slept on the mattress in some time now, but… it’s implied, by its very existence. A tangible proof of their consummated relationship. It _screams_ of sexual abandon, and there’s no muting it.

“We’re engaged,” Kylo blurts out.

Well, that’s one way to broach the issue.

He realises a moment later that this is a Big Deal. It’s a Big Deal, because Kylo had felt – ‘uncomfortable’ was too weak a word – _disgruntled_ (?) **outraged** (?) by the Jedi’s stance on affection, attachment, and love. He’s told Luke Skywalker – the last real Jedi Master – that he’s not only in love, but _getting married_.

Hux watches as the man’s face moves below the beard. Slow, but the smile that spreads shifts wrinkles and grey hairs, and his eyes crease around the edges. “You are?”

“So… the Force didn’t tell you that, too?” Hux lets his lips slant in amusement.

“No. It didn’t.”

Rey manages a whole five seconds more before she springs at Kylo (who is closest), her face alight with pure joy. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers, clutching at him. 

Hux wonders if it will ever get old, having people be happy for them. Everyone seems so pleased for their relationship, and although it’s a bit embarrassing and makes him self-conscious, it’s… good. Knowing people care. Knowing people want the best for them. Good.

Rey moves from Kylo, checking for permission, first, before wrapping around him, too. He hugs her back, scrunching her to his chest. It’s good to see her. 

“I missed you two,” she admits, just before pulling back. “You and Poe were the first friends I ever made.”

Which is sad for her, but now she – like every ragtag member of the Resistance – has as much of a home as she’s willing to make space for inside of herself. “Sort of missed you, too. Has he been hard on you?”

“No harder than his Master,” she says, which is no answer at all. 

“We’ll need to fly the ships to dock them…” Kylo points out.

“Rey and I can handle that,” Luke offers. “It will be… good to go home, at last.”

It’s been over a decade. He can’t imagine how it must have felt, being stuck here alone for that long. It was his choice, though. He had a working ship, he could always have come back.

***

It’s cramped in the cockpit, but it’s better than spending time in their pillow fortress with his uncle-in-law to be and Rey. Rey’s a natural behind the controls, and once they’re underway, they can all relax.

“How did your training go?” Hux asks.

“It was… strange. I still don’t fully think I’m what everyone thinks I can be…”

Luke looks wistfully at her. “I remember that feeling. I was nineteen. A nobody, on a planet on the edge of nothing.”

Those two have that much in common, but he and Kylo know a different upbringing. It’s interesting to wonder what they’d have been like, if they hadn’t been the sons of heroes (on either side). 

“But Luke has shown me so many things.” There’s a frank and open wonder on her face, a sincere joy. She’s not jaded, even now. She’s what Hux wishes he could still be like.

Kylo knows these things, these tricks, these techniques. He grew up with them. Rey… did not. And nor did he.

“Show me?” Hux asks. In part to encourage that bright spark in her, and in part because he just damn well wants to _see_. 

Kylo is still reticent about using his powers, except in combat, or occasionally in ‘private’. And to Rey, it’s new enough to be a thing to be proud of. 

She nods, then looks – glancingly – to Luke for his approval. 

“Hold out your hand,” she says. “Put your blaster on it, but don’t grip it.”

He unholsters it, pushes at the safety to confirm it is on, then lays it flat on his palm. A flicker of his eyes to her, then back. She’s gesturing with two fingers extended, and Kylo did say sometimes it helped to focus, but it wasn’t always necessary to use the hands. 

There’s a strange, gusting sensation just before the blaster lifts. She seems to get a grip on it, then flicks her hand, and pulls it through the air to land in her own. Pointed right at him, for only a moment. Like any good soldier, she turns the muzzle away quickly.

Which is interesting, very interesting. She’s barely had any time to learn, and she can already disarm him? “Can everyone do everything?”

“My knowledge of the previous generations is imperfect,” Luke admits. “I had a very brief time with Masters Kenobi and Yoda. But I have been speaking with them, whilst here. From what I have learned, not everyone could master every ability.”

“Like…?”

“Some could never move an object, like Rey can.”

Rey floats it back over to him, the movement much smoother now she has a feel for it. He plucks the sidearm from the air and puts it back in the holster.

“And some things were considered either too Dark, or close to it,” Kylo adds. “Some things were frowned upon, or outright banned by the Jedi.”

“The ability to control another’s mind… some Jedi did not like the skill,” Luke adds. “Master Kenobi, and his Master both practiced it. But things such as Lightning… they seemed to only come from the Dark Side.”

“Lightning?” Rey turns, frowning.

“Kylo, we’re going to need to know everything that Snoke is capable of throwing at us, and we’re going to need to know how to either resist, or prevent it,” Luke says, not quite answering the question.

The younger man takes a little breath in. “Mental control is his specialty. He will… he can speak to you over vast distances. From whole systems away… and he can make you doubt your sanity, and… inflict… pain…” 

Hux slides his boot across to touch his boyfriend’s own, offering the tiniest bit of comfort as the words falter to a halt.

“He can manipulate physical objects. And… yes. He has Lightning.”

“Like… real… lightning?” Rey asks.

Kylo nods. “He can control it. It… he only did it once. It was… it was a demonstration of his power, and…”

It’s clearly difficult for him to talk about. 

“It can be caught on a blade,” Luke offers. “Or held back, if the person has the power. I have been working to improve my abilities with it.”

“…you have Lightning?” Hux squints. “Isn’t that one of the ‘Dark’ only skills?”

“The more I have studied the Force, the more it feels… more complicated than two sides,” Luke replies. “And by all accounts, Master Yoda was able to resist Palpatine’s bolts.”

“So why do you need me?” Kylo asks.

“You have more strength in your mind and heart than anyone I ever worked with, or trained under, Kylo. You are the most likely to withstand his mental assault, with our support. And the best placed to give us practice for withstanding it.”

“You… want me to torture you?”

Rey seems uncomfortable, too. Hux doesn’t blame her.

“Not torture. Train.”

“What he did to me was torture. What you want to resist is therefore torture. The only way to show you, is—”

 _I can’t do this_.

Hux hears the words in his head, when Kylo’s voice fails him. 

_You can. It isn’t torture. It’s training. They can stop it. You would listen._

“If he does it… if he does it and you haven’t shown us…” Rey’s voice is distant, considering. “I would rather learn. If you can teach me. I would rather… you show me.”

“And… you don’t care how it might feel for _me_ to do it?” he asks.

“We do care,” Luke assures him. “It’s why I won’t demand, but I will ask. You are the one who knows. I failed to show you how to fight him, and if we repeat the mistake, what have we learned? Nothing. But if you can face it – briefly – it could be the difference we need to rid the galaxy of him for good. So _no_ one goes through what you did.”

“You’re still asking him to open up a dark place inside of himself,” Hux reminds the Jedi. “What if that dark place lets Snoke back in?”

“We’re here. All of us. You, Rey, me, Leia. We’re not going to lose him again.”

Kylo’s eyes close, his face drawn in concentration. “I need Hux there. And a droid. Ready to sedate me, if you have to. I don’t – I _can’t_ go back to him. If this makes me weaker to him, in any way… I _need_ you all to promise you’ll put me out of action until you manage to kill him. Shove me in Bacta. Drug me until I can’t dream. I… _mean_ that.”

Hux knows that Kylo also means: ‘And Hux kill me if there is no other choice in the galaxy’. A promise he hopes never to have to think about keeping.

“If it comes to it, we will.” The Jedi looks sober, now. The reality of the situation hangs in the air like thick smog, clouding them all. “But you broke from him once. You can do it again. And again. You will always know where your home is.”

Hux goes **red** when that makes Kylo look at him. _Really_ look at him. He reaches his hand out, and Hux grabs, squeezes.

“I’ll drag your overgrown ass home, Ren.”

Which – hah – makes him wince. 

“That isn’t really my name, is it?”

Hux shakes his head. “No.”

“Do… you object… to me using yours, when we…?”

Hux smiles, and rubs a little whorl onto his thumb. “It’d be my honour.”

***

When they land, the doors open to an even bigger crowd. Everyone seems to know who is coming home, and everyone who can be here, is here it seems.

It’s surreal. Hux and Kylo, bringing home the Jedi Master and his new Apprentice. (Is that the term? He’s never sure.) The crowd is for Luke, but Hux… _helped_.

Many people must have known the Jedi from before he left, but quite a few have never seen him. There’s no real words spoken by the crowd, but at the front of it stands a husband and wife, and their best friend.

Hux watches as Luke walks right up to her, embracing her deeply, and getting swamped by Han and Chewie in a massive cuddle-pile. There’s a loud roaring of satisfaction, and a few sniffles they hide in their hug.

He looks up at Kylo, then notices his boyfriend nodding at Rey.

Rey, who is least at home here. She’s the most outside of all of them, and he nods at Kylo. 

The Knight squeezes her shoulder, and Hux watches as Kylo offers her reassurance with low words. He’s going to need to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t feel too alienated from the group.

A few moments later, though, Poe and two other pilots walk up to break the ice.

“Nice to see you back,” he tells her.

Okay. He can stay. He’s being nice to Rey, who Hux is now considering adopting as his sister. She needs a brother, or something. Not because she can’t look after herself, but because – well – _family_ is a nice thing to have.

“This is Snap, and Jess,” Poe introduces them. “And guys, this is Rey. You both know Hux and Kylo?”

Nods and claps and smiles are traded as easy as electrical charge.

“We hear you’re a good pilot?” Snap asks Rey. “We’re always looking for more rec—”

Poe elbows him. “She’s a Jedi, Snap.”

“So was Red Five,” Jess says, nodding over to where Luke is still smothered by his old friends and family.

“I’d like to keep flying, wherever I can,” Rey admits. “I’ve never flown a fighter before.”

“You’d be a natural,” Poe admits. “Even I gotta say that. If you want to take up an X Wing or Y Wing sometime…”

“Thank you,” she says, sounding utterly touched. 

“Has anything happened while we’ve been gone?” Hux asks, when the conversation lulls.

“Not really. All gone worryingly quiet. You know? Like something’s _about_ to happen.”

“Sounds about right.” Kylo’s eyes roll almost out of his head. Then his attention whips away. “We’re being summonsed.”

“Force-thing?”

“No. My mother waved us over.”

Hux almost chokes. “Okay, then.” No arguing with the General. When she calls, you _obey_.

She does, at least, look happy. Really happy. It’s a pleasure to see it, and to know he played no small part in the whole affair. 

_Family_.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: violence, non-explicit CSA

“Are you sure you want me here?” Hux asks. After all, he doesn’t have the Force. He’s useless as anything more than window-dressing, and Kylo has to know that.

“I do. If you’re okay with it. I need… you make me feel safer.”

Hux smiles, and grips Kylo’s shoulder. “If it helps, of course I’ll come. I just didn’t want you to feel you needed to invite me.”

That settles it, then. He’ll go with Kylo for the training session, the one he’s dreading with all his being.

Hux is not looking forward to it, either.

***

Three Force-users. One Jedi Master, one… he’s not sure… and one Padawan-Apprentice-something. All of whom could probably snap his neck with a thought if they felt so inclined. He’s sure none of them _will_ , but it’s still a little humbling to be around this kind of psychic firepower.

He sits off to one side, hands clasped on his lap, watching. 

Luke is in his habitual grey robes, though he removes the outer layer and stands in the muted tones below. Rey is wearing similar earthen colours, and Kylo’s dark blues and charcoals stand out in their vibrancy. Maybe vibrancy isn’t the right word, but _saturation_? He’d never thought he’d consider Kylo as more brightly-coloured than other people.

All three carry their sabers on their hips. This isn’t going to be weapons training, probably (though he’d be very keen on seeing it: he’s never seen Kylo fight someone else with one), but more psychological.

“Before we start… do you have something you’ll say if you _need_ me to stop?” Kylo asks.

“Snoke wouldn’t stop,” Rey points out.

“No, but I’m not—”

“We need you to go just as hard as he would,” Luke says. “As hard as _you_ can. But we’ll know you’re doing it because we asked you to.”

Not because he wants to. Hux wonders if some of him does want to, however. Kylo’s still got anger directed to his uncle and parents, even if he’s forgiven them. He’s still walking on his tiptoes around them, and if the Dark is as strong as everyone implies…

Even Hux wants to cause some harm to Luke. Not enough to do it, but the thought’s definitely there, and he only experienced Kylo’s childhood by proxy: through memories, and stories. Enough to leave a sour taste in his mouth, but not enough to make him a blood-raged monster.

Complicated. 

“He won’t… follow any rules,” Kylo says, as his shoulders hunch in what is way too disturbing to be hot. 

Under other circumstances, predatory Kylo might well be a good thing. With these undertones, it’s as off-putting as it’s possible to be. Worse, when you realise it’s learned behaviour being mimicked. 

“He won’t hold back,” Kylo continues. “He won’t make sure your weapon is in your hand before you fight. He’ll rip everything – _everything_ – from you. He’ll make every. Last. Dark. Secret. Little. Fear. **Real**.”

Hux watches as Kylo advances on Luke. He won’t go after Rey, not yet. Even though Luke is the stronger target.

“I faced down the Emperor. I faced down my father,” Luke says, his voice almost even.

“He’ll remind you that your father died _because_ of you. That you – **you** – were the reason he fell, and the reason why he died. He will remind you of all those people you didn’t save… and all the ones you took pleasure in killing.”

“I did not.”

Kylo’s voice is feral around the edges, a growl of anger. “But you _did_. Some of them you did. Some of them, you didn’t see them as people, just as masks. Just as numbers. Just as weapons attacking you, and you let their light go out in the Force. Did you think they chose that life? But you took it from them, all the same…”

“I mourned every one,” Luke replies, his stance wide under the stalking black cloud approaching him. “My happiness wasn’t at their death, but at my _life_.”

“It is the **same thing** ,” Kylo snaps. “You live, someone else dies. You win, someone else loses.”

“It isn’t. Being glad to be alive is not being glad you took a life. It’s a part of the balance, but it isn’t Dark to survive. It’s Dark how you choose to do it, and if you choose to hurt when you can avoid it.”

Hux can’t see – or sense – the Force-battle going on under the words, can only see the strain on both their faces. Jaws tight, eyes lined, hands shaking. It’s obviously difficult for both of them, and he thinks…? Is Luke winning?

“ _You wanted the Darkness all the same_.”

“Yes,” Luke admits. “Part of me did.” His eyes look close to tears. “Part of me wanted it. It wanted the pain to stop. It wanted to know my father.”

“You were weak,” Kylo insists. “Too weak. You ran away, knowing you couldn’t defeat him. Knowing you could never defeat the Dark. Not the Emperor, and not the Leader.”

Now Luke’s knees buckle, just slightly. “Yes.” He sounds raw, shaken. 

“You let him hurt those children. You let it happen, because you weren’t strong enough to stop it.”

“ _Yes_.”

“You’ll never defeat the Darkness.”

“ _Because I’m not sure I need to_.”

Something snaps, then, and Hux watches in confusion as both men take a step back. Kylo’s dark eyes are haunted once more, haunted by the memories he’s obviously pulled to the forefront. The children Luke couldn’t save… Ben, and all the others.

Hux reaches for Kylo’s arm, but the man snatches it away.

“You have to fight him,” Kylo pleads.

“Him, but not the Dark,” Luke says.

“He’s _evil_.”

“But you’re not.”

Kylo’s hand goes to his belt, and he throws out the red, three-bladed weapon. It glows and snarls, crackling through the shadows dancing on the floor. “I did those things.”

“You did.” Luke does not draw his blade.

“I did _bad things_.”

“You did,” Luke agrees. “But I do not need to fight you.”

“You _should_ ,” Kylo says, and slams his blade through the air.

Hux closes his eyes. When he opens them, after the gasp from Rey, he sees Kylo’s frozen in mid-air.

The saber, that is.

He’s not sure if Luke stopped him, or if Kylo stopped himself. 

“I’m not Snoke,” Kylo says, his face distorted by the red light over his features.

“No.”

“He won’t stop like I will.”

“That’s why you’ll win.”

“If I stop?”

“If you don’t let the Dark _rule_ you.”

Kylo doesn’t understand, but he lowers the blade. “You want to know how to defeat him. How can I train you, if I’m… if…”

“I’m not going to defeat him. You – and Rey – are stronger than me. I am going to help you see that. I’m going to teach you as I always should have.”

“You’re still hiding!” Kylo snaps. “You’re not going to face him! You’re just leaving it to the _children_ all over again!”

“If I could defeat him on my own, I would. But my job is to help train _you_ ,” Luke insists. “And you are no longer a child. I will be there. Until the end; but you need to know you’re the strong ones, Kylo. You’re stronger than I ever was.”

In a rage, Kylo’s arm slams out, and tables and chairs go flying into the wall of this mess hall. “ **No**.”

“Kylo…” Rey calls, softly.

“He does _not_ get to turn what happened to me into some bullshit **teaching** mechanism. He does _not_ get to say I came out ‘stronger’. He does **not** get to make me feel like I had to be tortured for _literally most of my life_ in order to find my fucking self!”

Kylo’s got a point, and Hux can’t help but agree as he charges again. This time, his Force-powers send Luke skittering backwards.

“You think I’m stronger? You _fight me_.”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“You wanted to _learn_ how to **defeat him?** You _fight_ ,” Kylo snarls. “Or you give in. You give in, and you let every. Nasty. Little. Thing. In. Deep. Down. _Inside_.” 

He flings Luke again, but the man simply takes the throw and lands on his feet.

“You listen to him tell you that you’re _wrong_. You listen to him tell you that you’re **broken**. That your rage and your fear are _proof_. That you will NEVER. EVER. BE. **GOOD. ENOUGH**.”

Kylo slides Luke across the wall, banging over furniture, not caring for the damage he does.

“Kylo… don’t,” Rey says, going to his side with her hands outstretched.

He sends _her_ flying, next, too. “You think being alone is hard? How about being alone when surrounded by people? How about knowing you can never ask for help, because they’ll see how destroyed and rotten through you are? How about knowing your own _father_ thinks you’re a _monster_ , or waking up with your dick hard from the screaming, bloody murder in your dreams?”

Fucking. That. _Monster_. Kylo had been a _child_. Even the murder and the horrible images were beyond the pale, but to – to – interfere with him sexually… “You’re not a monster,” Hux calls out, his voice shaking.

Hux feels everything go sideways as Kylo’s rage hits him, smacking him over a table like he’s dust in front of a storm. He can’t hope to resist it, so he just tries to protect his vital organs and face. 

“What I went through was _not training_ ,” Kylo screams in his rage. 

“It wasn’t,” Luke agrees, walking up to him. He throws aside every chair, every piece of furniture that Kylo hurls at his head. “It wasn’t. It never should have happened. I’m _sorry_.”

The room is a mess, and Hux knows – somehow – this is Kylo _restrained_. He’s not at his worst – or best. He’s holding back, still fettered by his sense of what’s right. 

“Then why are you saying you _need_ me?”

“Because you didn’t break, even after all that torture. You still knew who you were, under it all. You were still _good_.”

Luke’s saber does come up, now, meeting Kylo’s. Red on green, and they hold the position over their heads. Kylo is shaking, and it’s agony to watch him. 

“I should have known how to teach you,” Luke says. “I should have found a way to help you. To balance the Force inside you. But you – Ben - _you_ didn’t let him take all of you away…”

“I’m not BEN.” 

“You _were_.”

“He’s **gone**.”

“He’s still in you.”

Kylo shoves Luke away, staggering back in shock. He shakes his head, over and over, in outright denial. Hux gently pulls himself ready, though he knows he can’t intervene again. The chances of accidental slaughter are too high.

“He’s a part of you. The Light, the Dark… both are in you. You have them, and you can use them. Show us,” Luke begs.

Kylo lifts his head, his hair around his face. His expression flickers between insanity-mad, and peaceful-serene. Never one for long, a maelstrom of opposing forces. “How?”

“Only you know,” Luke tells him.

The Knight looks to Rey, and their eyes lock together. Hux can’t hear, but he can imagine the silent conversation, all the same. He watches in awe as Kylo seems to reach into himself, lifting his hand… and throwing a bolt of purest, white light right at Rey.

Rey, who finds something in herself and throws her own up. The two meet, trailing sparks down to the hands that cast them. Blues and reds and pure whites all bounce around together, the colours muting down to a beautiful lilac.

Kylo’s expression goes something between the calm and the fire, something… Human, and complex. His breathing levels, but his eyes and lips still speak to deep feeling below. Rey’s brow creases, as she concentrates hard to match up to his level of power. She’s untrained, and it’s clearly hard for her.

Luke moves to hold her shoulders, and her light brightens. Hux can’t hear the whispered words, but he climbs awkwardly down to hold Kylo’s free hand, around the blade. 

“You’re going to make it,” he whispers, and squeezes hard.

Kylo doesn’t reply straight off, and his voice is strained and distant when he does. “I hope so.”

The light starts to fade back into them, the energy coiling back into their bodies. Hux wonders if it would hurt to touch it, but he daren’t ask. Not yet.

As the two slowly calm, he looks over to Luke. “Did you mean it? Were you really called to the Dark Side?”

“I was,” Luke admits. “I was. I still am. But I could only see what it had done to my father. And I was afraid it would do the same to me.”

“But now?”

“We will never win if we try to destroy what’s natural,” the Jedi says. “The Dark is no more evil than you, or I. More dangerous, but not more evil.”

Hux thinks he understands. Maybe.

“I’m sorry,” Kylo says, looking around at the room.

“You did nothing wrong,” Rey says, as she wavers. “You were training us.”

“I did do wrong. Before.”

“That was before,” Hux tells him. “But not now.”

“Can… can we go home?” Kylo pleads.

Hux flicks Kylo’s saber off. “Yes.” Yes. He doesn’t need any more horror in his life today. 

Luke nods, and Hux takes his Knight home. 


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEE NOTES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE THE FOLLOWING WARNING and consider skipping this chapter if it will trigger or affect you deeply.
> 
> There is heavily referenced abuse of minors, torture, mental control, violence, and dub/non-con (not graphic but overtly there). Neither of them have had particularly good childhoods. 
> 
> Once this chapter is over, there should not be much more of this. But we'll see if they need to talk about it again.

Back in their rooms, Hux is making hot chocolate to soothe Kylo’s nerves. He’s been jittering since they left the training room, his whole body a bundle of nervous energy. It’s hard to watch, and he doesn’t really know what’s the best to offer.

The sugary drink might help with the jangling, and he holds the mug out to him.

“Do you want to…?”

“Talk?” 

Hux nods.

Kylo walks back out of the kitchen area, slumping down to sit cross-legged in front of the couch. 

Hux’s knees hate him, but he joins him with minimal complaint. He watches as Kylo grabs a cushion to wrap around, and he sits close (but not touching), nursing his own mug.

“I don’t think I can face him.”

“Snoke?”

Kylo nods, and Hux strokes his finger around the lip of his mug. It’s too warm to drink straight off, but the heat into his palms is soothing, and the smell tells him what he’ll taste when it’s cool enough to swallow. 

“Why?”

“You saw what even thinking about it did…”

“I saw a lot of anger, and a lot of power.”

“Hux, I _hurt_ you.”

“You didn’t, not really.” Not in any serious manner.

“I threw you across the room!”

“And you could do a lot worse than that.”

“Doesn’t mean ‘minor injury’ is acceptable because I didn’t break your fucking leg… I _lost. Control_.”

“So you work to keep it,” Hux pushes. He’s not going to back down.

“Hux…”

“No… do you think Luke can do it without you? He doesn’t think he can. And Rey… she’s just a girl. And I mean that in a ‘young’ sense, not a ‘female’ sense.”

She is. And Hux feels weirdly protective over her. He can’t explain it, so he just has to go with it. 

“And what if Snoke turns me again? What if he uses me to kill them, to kill… to kill you?”

The thought has, of course, crossed Hux’s mind. Many times. In multiple directions. “I want to know what he did to you.”

Kylo stares at him, and suddenly Hux sees a shudder like he’s cold start, and not stop. A constant, tiny vibrating making his tall body flutter. His head jerks – nearly robotic – and he shakes it between them. “N-no.”

“If not me, then someone,” Hux pushes. “You need… you need to admit what happened.”

“N-NO.”

Hux puts down his mug, and puts his hands over Kylo’s. His fiancé startles, dropping the mug, and Hux tries to catch his wrists as he starts to fight. He’s going into something, and Hux doesn’t know if he should guide him back or push him through.

“Kylo…”

“H-h-hhhh—”

He tries to pull his hands free, and Hux worries he’s going to injure himself, suddenly. He can feel a bolt of pure terror, rage, disgust and despair. It’s not his, and he knows it. It gets louder, brighter, hotter… and the tighter he holds on, the more real the moment becomes.

“Kylo… you need to face it. You need to face _him_. Or you’ll always be—”

Hux feels the punch to his chest, sending him flying to the wall, from where he was sitting. His head slammed back, and agony cresting through his skull. Kylo’s eyes are wild – wilder than they’d ever been when he was caged – and Hux wonders if this is what Luke had been faced with? A boy in training, impossible to tame? Or did this come later?

He is horribly, horribly out-classed.

He’s also possibly the only person who can understand.

Maybe Kylo does need someone else to hear this, but who would risk their life and limb for it? Who would he be prepared to face the next day? If there’s a therapist capable of helping, they haven’t come forwards. And Maker knows Hux could have done with one, himself.

“No,” Kylo repeats, rising to his feet. 

“You need me to know.”

“You’ll hate me.”

Of all the insane logic… “Why?”

“You’ll – you’ll _hate_ me, like they did. You’ll **send me away**.”

He’s talking as much to the boy who was Ben as the man who is Kylo, isn’t he? Someone who never had the protection, or understanding. He aches so hard inside at the knowledge of it, at the realisation of the pain.

“Kylo… I’m going to tell you. I’m going to tell you what they did to me.”

Kylo shakes his head, but he’s still keeping himself all the way over the other side of the room. Hux is in as much danger wherever he stands, but the distance goes some way to reassure him that Kylo doesn’t want to lash out, or hurt him. That it’s only going to be accidental.

You can still accidentally kill someone.

“I didn’t have a childhood. Not like you see in the holos. I’m sure you didn’t, either… not like those ones. But I was drilled non-stop. I was already useless in my father’s eyes, so I did everything I could to make that opinion change.”

Kylo’s hands go into his hair, all but pulling it from his scalp. “No.”

“Kylo… please listen.” Hux is crying, but it’s not stopping his words. It’s just a stream from his eyes, and _he_ needs to say it. “Please.”

“I don’t know… I don’t know if I can…”

“ _Please_ ,” Hux begs, and he knows he needs this, just as much. But he won’t push any more, not unless Kylo agrees.

Is he forcing him when he shouldn’t? Is this selfish, or harmful, or wrong? Guilt cripples him from the inside out, making his head swim, making his knees lock. 

“…just once?”

“Just once. Let’s… let’s be honest. I won’t be afraid. I won’t hate you. I won’t run away, or send you away.”

“…do you promise?”

“I _promise_ ,” Hux says, and he means it.

***

Hux remembers the past in black and white, mostly. There must have been colour, but everything is cast in shades of gunmetal bulkhead, white armour, black boots. He doesn’t remember much of anything soft.

He remembers the lessons. They’d felt normal, at the time. Of course they had. How could he know any different? You learned the requirements of each class of Star Destroyer. You learned reload rates. Ration amounts. The cost of tools and equipment. The weaknesses of the enemy, the strength of your mechanic.

He remembers drilling himself after lessons, lying in bed and memorising fact after fact after fact. 

Simulated warfare. Simulated death. 

It doesn’t look so bad, on the surface. It looks pretty normal, if you ignore the fact there’s no emotion.

None.

He doesn’t remember feeling any, and he isn’t sure he did. Not for long, anyway. He doesn’t remember it, though he knows there must have been some element of pride, some drive to succeed. Hux’s father wanders past windows in the memories, and the hunger to make him proud is a weird, absent sensation.

It’s this that upsets him the most. That he might have lived so many years not feeling. 

_Until those times he does_.

They’re like flashes of lightning in a night sky. Whipcrack through his mind, then gone. Bright and dangerous and alive, and how many times did they need to send him for ‘training’? How many times did he feel too much, and need to be re-conditioned?

Vast swathes of uniform memories. They try to tower over, try to subsume him in the facts, the figures, the sameness of every day, every night. Order, in her purest sense. Order.

 _But not enough to break him in_.

He remembers making sure his crying goes unnoticed. The sting of tears down his face in bed, keeping his shoulders from shaking. Alone, alone and without a single friend. Every single one of the officers-to-be ready to rat him out for the slightest non-conformity. His eyes hurting and his body so raw from it and being so careful to do it when they’re asleep so he can wash his eyes out in the morning and carry on.

Feeling so alone. Not knowing what it is he’s missing, but missing it all the same. Feeling broken, because everyone else _seems_ to cope just fine, and he’s _weak and pathetic_ like the Commandant says. He’s not good enough to be the man he should be.

Numbers. Steps. Blocks. Blows. Counters. Parries. Thrusts.

A stab of pain behind the eyes, an agony that’s remembered from somewhere, somewhen. He’s not sure if it was there to enforce the messages, but his whole skull is on fire, and he has to make it stop, make it stop, make it—

Up. Down. Turn. Bank. Shoot.

He invents a whole team in his head. They go off on adventures. It is the only way to cope with being so alone. He names them all and they are all good friends and they all love one another. Rik is the pilot. Tain is the sniper. Roley is the medic. He is the Force-sensitive. (How had he forgotten this?) They fight bad guys who aren’t the Republic and aren’t the Order. 

They’re Bounty Hunters. He daydreams about their latest escapade, and how everyone praises him for his wonderful abilities when there’s a _crack_ around his head and he comes back down to the ship with a bump.

 _You’re indisciplined_.

He shudders. He was trying so hard to not let it show. He’s finished the assignment, he did it while he was wandering in his mind. He pushes the tablet over for assessment, hoping they’ll overlook his minor blip in compliance.

There’s a lot of blank space again.

In his stories, he gets to be the Hero. He gets to be Important. He doesn’t need to train, and he doesn’t feel lonely. He has a purpose, and people like him, and he isn’t worried his friends will betray him. 

Sometimes other things happen to him.

In the stories.

He’s not sure, now, why. He’s not sure if the memories of being tied down, of lights, of pain, of drugs and torture are—

It was a story. Yes. It was just a story.

(Big people. Really big. Droids. Needles. Screaming. _You’ll never get my secrets from me. I’ll never tell you anything. I’ll die before I surrender…_ )

How did he forget that?

How did he forget he’d been… 

Standing in front of someone. We’ll make a man out of you. He doesn’t know if the things he sees happen to others happened to him. There’s gaps where memories should be. When he gets closer, his attention veers firmly away, like he’s avoiding something.

(Strapped down, that didn’t happen? Did it? Images, voices, pain. It was just… kids did that, right? They thought about being hurt? It didn’t mean they were hurt, it didn’t mean they were covering something over. It didn’t mean they _really did want the monster to end them_ , it didn’t—)

***

His voice is in ruins, and he looks up, begging for the truth.

Which of it was real?

It was just…

His father wouldn’t do that, right? Wouldn’t put his son through hell? Wouldn’t have tall men and droids beat out any signs of resistance? They wouldn’t force the images in front of him, and he wouldn’t be so unhappy that he _thought death was preferable to continuing and longed for those Bounty Hunters to tie him to things and burn him with his ‘own lightsaber’ or tell him they’d ransom him because at least then he’d know someone would pay and he didn’t want them to hurt him within an inch of his life but it was the only way to be a hero—_

“It wasn’t that bad,” he hears himself say, his voice hollow, repeating things on rote.

“Hux…” 

Kylo’s moved closer, put his hands on his face. Hux feels the constant stream of tears trail down his cheeks, and he’s both horrified by it, and utterly absent from the moment.

Like those memories. Like those memories where he felt nothing at all. Like all the times in his life when he’s been sure he’s broken inside because he’s not feeling. Because there’s no way _to_ feel, because he’s not Human, he’s—

Soft lips touch his, the barest of kisses. He grabs his hands into tight tight tight tight balls and tries to breathe through it. “It wasn’t bad. I’m exaggerating.”

“They _tortured_ you.”

“No.”

“Hux… they did. You should have been loved. You should have been free to do what you wanted. You shouldn’t have been ‘trained’ to kill…”

“It’s—I—”

There’s a wall. There’s a wall inside his head. He can’t claw through it, and hysteria rises at the same time as impossible calm, leaving him wobbling on the verge of both. 

“It wasn’t—”

“ _That is not how your childhood should have been_ ,” Kylo hisses, his own voice in shreds.

“It was nothing. It’s what they do to all officers. All recruits.”

“And it’s _wrong_.”

It is. It isn’t. The training is so deep inside that even as he denies it, he affirms it. The claws are so deep into his guts that he can’t – he can’t ever fully…

“Snoke spoke to me. From before I knew. I told you, but…”

There’s more. There’s always more. Hux holds the hands on his face. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I do.”

Hux nods. He understands that. He had to tell Kylo, after all. 

“He would… I didn’t know he wasn’t my own head. To begin with. I thought everyone heard him, or that he was me… I don’t… know?”

Hux cannot even imagine, or maybe he can. He strokes the hands on his face, giving him the space to recall, too.

“…he… he told me… he told me I was… bad and wrong. And that… my anger and my emotions and my fear meant there was too much Dark in me. I was afraid. I was _ashamed_. I didn’t tell my parents properly, because my dad was already afraid, but he… I… couldn’t… control my temper, and…”

“It’s okay,” Hux says. It is not what he means, and it is. It’s words, but there is no real set of them to say ‘I’m so sorry this happened, but you can tell me, anyway’, and get across how he feels.

“I got angry a lot. I would fight a lot. Mom wouldn’t yell, she’d tell me she was disappointed in me, and that was _worse_. I didn’t even mean to get so angry, but it was inside of me, and he… he…”

“Kylo, I won’t judge you.”

“Everybody will.” 

It’s a note of pure terror, and Hux grabs for him again, only to find Kylo pulling away.

They’re both crying. It’s – this was a mistake. It’s not helping, it’s just bringing up pain they should have locked away and never felt again. Gone back to the cold, unfeeling days. To when everything was just – uniform. Black and white. Simple.

“Kylo… I promise you, what he did to you—“

***

The memory hits like one of his own, but this is vibrantly coloured and almost sings. Is it the Force he’s feeling, in Kylo’s memory? Or is it just the alien nature of the other man’s mind?

He sees a boy, barely ten, curled under a blanket with a stuffed toy and shuddering all the way through the night. He reeks of fear and Hux remembers when he wet the bed and no one would talk to him for a week.

Hux sees a boy flooded with hormones and horror, hears names called and insults thrown, volleyed back with fists and boots. Further and further away from everyone, terrified and—

A stab of arousal.

No.

He was.

 _No_.

Hux tries to back out of the memory, but – how old?

Does it matter?

Ben (he was Ben) kneels over the boy who called him names and punches him until someone drags him off, and Hux can feel the thrill of excitement and it makes him want to hurl.

He put that there. He’s sure. Snoke put that there, and it only builds through the dizzying dance of memories. A boy pummelling his fists into the shower tiles, trying to get enough pain to make the flush of heat in his loins give way. A boy remembering the pop of a nose under his fist when he does it, and feeling the answering pop of his own.

 _Fuck, no, mercy, Kylo, mercy_.

Whispers in his ear. _You’re too Dark for them. You can’t stay. You belong with me. You’ll only hurt them all. If you want to protect them you’ll leave. You won’t tell anyone our secret. You’re such a good boy. You’re so strong. I’m telling you things they won’t. I’ll teach you things they won’t. They’ll cut the heart out of you, boy. You’ll never feel love again. You’ll never feel joy again. Don’t you see? Your mother doesn’t even want you. You love her and she wants you to stop loving her. You’re never going to be free. Come to me, boy. I will show you. I will make it all right. You’re too broken for them. You’re a monster. Don’t you remember? You saw how they looked at you. I’ll make you strong. You want to know power, don’t you? Don’t tell a soul. They’ll just call you sick, boy. They’ll beat it out of you. You won’t ever be free. You come to me, boy. Come to me. I will make it all come true…_

“He…”

“Kylo.”

“He… when… when I… killed… in my… in my dreams… I would…”

Hux launches at him, grabbing him, holding him tight. “It wasn’t you. Those… sensations… he…”

Manipulated him. Turned something that should never have been used against him. How old had he been? How long had Snoke inflicted this on him?

“I _felt_ them.”

“Because he made you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you wouldn’t have felt like that if he hadn’t!”

“ _How do you know_?”

How can he know? There’s no way to prove it, short of find an alternate-dimension Ben who didn’t have Snoke in his head, and measure them against each other. “You aren’t what he made you feel.”

“I still felt it.”

Hux punches his arm. “Did you feel that?”

“Ow! Yes!”

“And if I didn’t punch you?”

Kylo doesn’t seem to agree, though, and he tries to pull away. “I’m still—”

“Have you murdered anyone, since you got home? Or have you done your best _not_ to take life, even when fighting?”

“That’s… not the—”

Hux drags his head down, kissing above his brow. “It _is_ the point. You have the choice, now. You have the choice, and you’re choosing to save people. To be kind. To _love_.”

Kylo doesn’t look convinced. “He… he… how can I fight him off, when he could…”

Hux pushes fingers through Kylo’s hair. “Because you’re stronger, and you have us, and you don’t need to hide it, not now.”

“I can’t… I can’t tell anyone…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“But—”

More kisses, from temple to temple. “We train. We train you in finding your power. And you _don’t_ worry what you’ll do with it, because what did you do today?”

“…attempt to kill all three of you?”

“You bloody well did _not_. You were fighting to keep us safe. To keep the Darkness away from us. You were fighting to _not_ hurt us.”

Kylo sniffles, and looks to the mess on the floor. “I kind of fucked that up.”

“The hot chocolate, yes. The keeping us safe, no.” Hux smiles, and pulls him in for a hug. “You heard Luke: the Dark isn’t the enemy, _Snoke_ is. And even if I’d do anything to stop you going through what you did… it happened. At least you can use it to end him.”

“But… you don’t think he’ll control me?”

How does Hux know for sure? He can’t. He’s never had the Force, even after all those daydreams. “You don’t want him to.”

“I didn’t want him to, then.”

“You were a child. Now you have all of his training, and you can use it. If you were _like_ him, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be by his side, or you’d be _in his seat_.”

Kylo pulls back, just to see his eyes. He offers the very, very faintest of smiles. “If I wanted it… I’d still be there?”

Hux nods. “Yes. And you wouldn’t be fighting _so damn hard_ to stay here.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m not.” Hux pulls him over to the couch, the worst of the tension gone, now. “Someone should have protected you, and they didn’t.”

“And you,” Kylo points out.

“…what I went through was child’s play, in comparison.”

Long fingers stroke his cheek. “No. It still hurt you.”

“Still…” It’s a matter of degrees. “Now you know you don’t need to hide. Now you know… someone knows. Does… that help?” He thinks it helps him. He thinks it helps him to know someone knows, and isn’t horrified by him, or disgusted with him, or…

A little nod. Kylo’s voice isn’t smooth, it jerks like a ship with a missing engine. “It feels like… like a weight’s gone. It’s still… in me. But you… you don’t hate me, or…”

Hux grabs his hand, kissing his fingers. “How could I hate you for things you had done to you?”

“…I was… I was ashamed…”

“He did that. He made you feel you had to hide it, but it was to protect _him_. Because no one would let you suffer that if they knew…” 

Kylo nods, and his eyes slide away. “If you don’t… want me, though…”

That he even asks hurts, on some level. That he thinks Hux would be so shallow, or that his love is so incomplete. But then, Hux hasn’t been through what Kylo’s been through. He’s starting to wonder if his own lack of tactile comfort has a direct, identifiable cause. And he can see how that could be magnified a hundredfold. 

In a sense, he’s lucky Kylo will even let him hold his hand. “I do.”

“…even… even knowing that… that it happened?”

That he got hard over things? That someone made him feel it against his will? Fuck. “I’m not going to lie, I… I will worry I’m forcing myself on you.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Kylo growls, panic in his tone. 

“Kylo… we’re…”

“I _want_ you. You make me feel **good**.” The expression on his face is absolutely horrified, which Hux takes to mean at the prospect of them… changing things. His speech is still off, the pattern and rhythm shot to pieces. It’s almost like talking to another person, entirely.

“Would you tell me? If I didn’t?”

There’s a pause, then a nod.

“Kylo… I can’t do this if I don’t know you’ll be honest with me. Even if it’s just for a night off, I need… I need to know you’d tell me.”

“I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

“Do you think I’d be in the mood if I knew you weren’t?”

There’s a sullen shake of head.

“Promise me?”

“…I promise. If… if it ever doesn’t work, I’ll tell you. But it always _has_.”

Hux pulls him in for deeper cuddling. “That’s all I want. You, happy. However we do it.”

Though he thinks there’s going to be some deep soul-searching, now. But later. First, he has a fiancé to cuddle back to the land of the living. 

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Kylo says. “Before.” But the shaking has gone, and his voice sounds clearer, calmer. Like the fever’s broken, and he’s coming back down to himself. 

“We both needed to, I think.” 

Another pause, this one longer. A nose in hair, a face in neck. 

“Thank you,” Kylo says.

He shouldn’t have to. “You’ve never been more welcome in your life,” he replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider this my offer to help anyone who needs help in processing something. I'm here. You can reach out to me. I will not judge you. You don't even need to use a name. If you need someone 'adult' to help you - no matter your age - I will do anything I can to help you. Okay. Don't give up. Don't ever give up. You're loved.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Violence

That night, they spend all the waking moments just touching. Hux is gentle with him, unsure if his fiancé will want the contact or not. He’s not even intending anything sexual, but those memories had been harrowing, and the echoes of those past moments are hard to shake off. Hux just wants to blanket him in his arms, but he doesn’t want to do it if Kylo doesn’t like it.

Those memories aren’t to do with him, but Hux knows sometimes the mind will remember things that aren’t connected, and he doesn’t want his hands to be the cause of those flashbacks. He’s partially wondering if it was even a good idea in the first place, but once they recover from it… maybe they can both move on.

“I’m not going to shatter,” Kylo mutters into his neck.

“I don’t want to make you remember.”

“You do the opposite. You give me something _new_. Something good to remember.”

He holds him tighter, but still as chaste as he can. Hands laced, and their heads press together. Breathing falling into synch, the beat of his heart impossible to tune out.

“I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t.” Kylo squeezes him, too. “It’s right, you know. I didn’t like hiding it from you, but I thought you would be angry with me.”

“Angry with _you_? It’s that monster I’m angry with, and your family for not protecting you.”

“They didn’t… it wasn’t… it’s…”

“You were a _child_. Don’t even try to defend it. Even if they didn’t mean to let you get hurt, it’s their responsibility to ensure you’re not when you’re an _infant_ , Kylo.”

“I hid things from them.”

“You think you’re the only child who didn’t tell his parents that someone bad did things to them?”

Maybe that was a bit sharp. He hadn’t meant it to come across like that, and he feels the shrinking in his grip.

“Kylo… it’s okay. They didn’t mean to let you get hurt, but they did _let_ you get hurt. You can be angry, and then forgive them.”

“I just kind of… I want it to… I want to not think about it. Is that okay? It happened, but I don’t think I want to work through it. I want to just… ignore it.” His tone is pleading, and hurting.

Hux is not trained in _this_. He’s an interrogator, and one who hasn’t interrogated anyone in months, now. He wonders if Leia had an inkling into what had happened to him before he joined the Resistance, and that was why she’d pushed them together. 

This could have gone drastically in one of two ways. It’s only fortunate it didn’t go the other.

“As long as it isn’t making you unhappy, or making you avoid healthy things… I think knowing it happened and trying to forget it is okay. But only if you’re comfortable doing that. If you feel you need to work through it, or… discuss it…”

“I don’t think I do, but… I’ll say.” Kylo takes a slow, slow breath. “I just want it to be now, now. I just… want you to hold me. To know… you don’t… to know we can still be us.”

“Of course we can.” He tucks hair behind Kylo’s ear. It’s getting long, but it’s still silky soft under his fingers. “You’re still you. What people did to you just makes me angry, it doesn’t make me not want you. Just makes me want to protect you.”

“You… don’t… think I’m wrong?”

“You’re anything _but_ wrong.” He runs his nose against the Knight’s. “You’re beautiful, and strong, and fierce. What other people do is not on you. And what he tried to make you feel isn’t your fault, either.”

“…even if I felt them?”

“Even if you felt them.”

Kylo nods. “I just want you to hold me, tonight.”

“Always.”

***

In the middle of the night, Kylo wakes. He wakes first, and Hux follows a moment after, seeing bat-wide whites on his face.

“Are you okay?”

He’s groggy, and not awake enough to work out what Kylo’s feeling. The low light makes it difficult to read his expression, but he’s not sure it’s even that clear right now. 

“I need…”

“What?” He touches the back of his hand to his cheek, stroking very slowly. 

“I…”

“Whatever it is, you can have it.”

He trusts him. Trusts him to fall asleep with him, the most vulnerable he can be. Trusts him enough to let him all the way into the nightmares, and trusts him to touch every last inch of his skin. 

He watches as Kylo turns his face into the pillow, his shoulders shaking with anger. He’s remembering again, and Hux touches his neck, his shoulder. 

“It’s okay.”

“It _isn’t_.”

“Kylo… it’s okay. Whatever it is.”

The Knight stuffs the pillow into his mouth, and Hux watches as his fingernails claws over the sheets, frustration making him fierce. He keeps up the soft touches, getting a flash – intentional or not, and through the Force or not he has no idea – of what Kylo’s thinking.

“Do you need to hurt me?” he whispers.

“I’m not,” Kylo says into the pillow.

“Is it what you need?”

“ _I’m not hurting you_.”

“Kylo… will you please look at me?”

His fiancé refuses, shoving his face back into the bedding, then trying to climb out of the bed. Hux launches after him, grabbing his wrist. He sees the fist at the end of his arm, and he doesn’t feel afraid at all. Concern, but no fear. 

“Let go of me.”

Hux holds on a moment longer, then lets go. Kylo sits on the edge of the bed, pushing fingers into his hair. 

“Can I touch you?”

Kylo shakes his head, his hair whipping lightly around his head.

“Can I talk to you?”

A pause, then a lift and fall of shoulders. 

Hux wriggles up the bed, shoving pillows behind him, so he can sit upright. “I’m sorry I made you remember things.”

“I needed to.”

Did he? 

Kylo’s voice falters, finding points of thought and running away when he gets close. “I needed… _fuck_. I don’t know. But it happened. And I…” His body sinks lower, his posture growing defensive. “It happened. I can’t pretend it didn’t.”

“But if you can stop thinking—”

“I _can’t_.”

“Kylo…”

“He was _right_.” Hands pull his hair almost out. “I _am_ broken. I **am** those things, I—”

Hux needs to touch. He knows he’s been told not to, but sometimes you have to break rules. Or… push them. He puts his hand on Kylo’s shoulder, just that single contact, and he’s fully expecting the whirlwind of rage. He _wanted_ it. He lets himself be pushed onto his back again, and doesn’t flinch when Kylo glares down at him.

“You’re no monster.”

“I _killed people_.”

“So did your mother. And your father. And your uncle.”

His eyes close, a shake down his spine. “I killed and liked it.”

“Pretty sure everyone’s liked it a little, if they did it more than once.”

“Sometimes I—”

He won’t continue. Hux pushes up to kiss him. “Do you do those things? The ones you think about?”

The headshake is _fierce_.

“Thinking about things doesn’t make you bad, or wrong.”

“They’re not nice things.”

“Have you ever – even once – injured me or done something to me I didn’t want? Other than at the start, when we were… not the best of friends?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“The fact that sometimes I think about smashing people’s skulls, for no other reason than… I don’t even know? I’ll be sitting there, and then I’ll wonder how it would feel to do it? Or how sometimes I can’t stop analysing a group of people to work out how to fight them? Or how I can’t help but find someone’s weak spot, so I know how I’d break them?”

Hux twitches. “…I do some of that, you know.”

“Yeah. Well. It’s fucked up.”

“Yes.” It is. He’s just gotten used to it, though. “It’s not wrong to think—”

“It is fucking _wrong_ , Hux. What the fuck? It’s wrong. Do you think normal people imagine the sound of someone’s teeth leaving their face?”

“I think some people think about it, but probably less than we do. But you can’t _stop yourself thinking things_. You can stop yourself _doing things_.”

“And what if I **do** want to hurt you?”

“So?”

“You’re my fucking – we’re _engaged_ , Hux, and—”

“What do you think about doing to me?”

He pulls off again, and Hux lets him. Watches. Swallows. 

“Kylo… what do you think about doing to me?”

“It’s…”

“I’m not going to get upset, or angry, or disgusted.”

“You _should_.”

“Because you are? No. I’m not disgusted by things that happen in your head. I’m pretty sure if we could be arrested for those, then we’d all be in jail.”

“But I _love_ you, and it’s _wrong_.”

“I’m telling you it’s okay.”

“But it isn’t!”

How does he get this through? “When we met… I was rough with you. Are you annoyed with me for that?”

“…I was at the time.”

“Okay, but now?”

Kylo shakes his head.

“What if I still think about pinning you down, or twisting your wrist, or punching you?”

“You don’t get _hard_ from it.”

“I do. Sometimes.”

There, he’s said it. 

“You do?”

“Not often, but… yes. I’ve had my wires cross inside. Haven’t hurt you though, have I?”

Kylo pauses. It’s a long pause, before he speak again. “How do you handle it?”

“I realise it’s just… a stray thought, like when I think about a song, or what’s for supper. I don’t _need_ to hurt you, and I love what we already do do.” Should he feel bad for wandering thoughts of injuring him? Is he just so badly put together that he doesn’t feel the horror he should?

“…you… you don’t mind I… think those things, then?”

“Not really. You’ve not punched my teeth out. If you sometimes think about doing it, so what?” It’s not like it injures him.

There’s a sudden _whoosh_ of Knight launching at him, pinning him down and lying flat out on him. Kylo’s shaking from head to toe, terror finally breaking out past the dam. Hux wraps around him as best he can, cuddling him with all the strength in his arms and legs. 

“It’s okay,” Hux says, and doesn’t let up his embrace one bit. “I promise. Nothing you can think about will upset me. Nothing you can want to do will upset me. I might not _want_ to do it, but—”

“J-just because I think things doesn’t mean I _want_ them.”

“See?”

There’s a nodding against his neck, and he strokes over the man’s back, kissing at his throat. 

“If you need to… do something. We can find a way that’s not harmful. If you need it to feel better. Either you, or me… there’s things we can do.”

Kylo starts crying, then, and Hux doesn’t want to push it any more. He wraps all around him, kissing his temple, across his forehead. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kylo insists, viciously. “Even if I think about it. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I understand.” He thinks he does. More soft fingers, between the fierce hugs. “But if you need to tell me you’re thinking of it, you can. Or if you just want to demand a hug to get through it…”

“I don’t deserve you,” Kylo says, into the crook of his neck. 

“You deserve me. Or better, but settle for me.”

It’s late, still, and his head hurts a little from the interrupted sleep as the adrenaline flickers down. Kylo’s mind touches his, wary and hopeful, and he nods to let him in. The Knight’s thoughts are disjointed and exhausted, but Hux smiles at the underlying care.

“Sleep,” he says. “I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”


	44. Chapter 44

The next training session happens without him there. Hux doesn’t mind, because it means Kylo feels safe enough to do it. He kisses him and squeezes his hand, and then goes to make himself useful. He’s not a Force-sensitive, but most of the galaxy isn’t. They don’t stop mattering just because people can float tables.

Major Caluan Ematt smiles at him when he enters his small office.

“Hux, it’s good to see you.”

“I wanted to say thanks for all those missions you handed us.”

“We should be thanking you. The two of you took down more targets in a month than some people do in their career.”

“Well… Kylo _is_ a… do they count as Jedi if they’re Dark?”

“Damned if I know.” Ematt shakes his head. “Never heard of one being Dark and not evil. But then there’s not been many of them around, for a while.”

“Is there anything I can do on-world? Any… I don’t know… targets you want working on? Or intel to analyse?”

“The last target I gave you, you started dating. I don’t want to be the cause of a marital conflict.”

Fair. Hux grins. “There were extenuating circumstances there.” 

“I’ll give you that. And for the record… we’ve got no one. But there’s…”

Hux waits, and when Ematt looks concerned, he nods at him to go on.

“There’s some people with… problems. That we don’t have the medics to help them.”

“…you think I can help?”

“Hux, you find the inside of people’s heads faster than anyone I’ve ever met. If you’re able to stand up to feeling some of their pain, I think you could help a lot of them. After the Organa boy…”

“…could I check their files, first?”

Ematt nods. “Always.”

“I’ll consider it, then.” He’s not really trained in making people feel better, but he’s been learning fast. Maybe it would be a better way to use his talents? Build up, instead of break down? It’s worth a shot.

***

That evening, Leia invites them around for a family meal. 

Family, apparently, means Leia, Han and Chewbacca, himself and Kylo, Luke, and Rey. The table is getting bigger with every turn, and Hux can’t help but wonder at it. 

Leia sits flanked by husband and brother, with Chewie sitting on Han’s other side. Rey, who speaks Wookie, sits next to Chewie, then it’s Hux and then Kylo, closing the loop. 

Hux is going to need to learn Wookie. Properly, not just the odd phrase or word. It’s hard when Kylo can understand it, but can’t really pronounce the words to teach him. He’s been listening to guides, but it’s just not sticking in. They say you lose some of the ability as you age, but he’s not going to give in so easily.

“I’ll translate for you,” Rey promises. 

“I can as well, you know,” Kylo adds, a tiny bit stuffily.

“I realise I’m out-numbered here, being the only one who can’t understand you, Chewie,” Hux says. “I’m sorry for that.”

A roar, a shake of the head.

“He says you’ll learn.” Rey makes good on her promise. “And that he understands it is harder for ex-Imperials.”

“I did have less exposure to non-Basic languages,” he agrees. “They didn’t even let you hear other languages for years, in case you questioned things.” Then he squints at Rey. “Why do you know Wookie?”

“Traders,” she shrugs.

“I can give you some time with Threepio if you think it would help,” Leia offers. “He speaks most languages in the galaxy.”

There’s a kick under the table, and Hux realises… “Thank you, but I have a holonet course I’m working on.” 

Kylo is probably right to warn him. Threepio is very intelligent, but he is also very difficult to spend long periods around. Hux doesn’t speak Binary – or, more precisely – understand Binary enough to really know what R2-D2 is like, but from tone alone Hux thinks he’d get on well with the astromech. 

“It’s very nice to eat ‘real’ food again,” Luke tells – Leia? Everyone?

“Yeah, well, if you’d told me where in the kriff you were…” Han waves a fork. “I coulda brought you beer.”

Luke offers a little bow of his head. “I am sorry, you know. But I wanted to… I wanted to make sure I knew how to fight Snoke, and help Kylo.”

“…what do… uh… do you still talk to the Jedi?” Kylo asks, looking down at his plate.

“I do.”

“…what…?”

“Some of them are more… flexible about the end goals than others. I’m not sure Master Yoda will ever be convinced there’s a middle ground. Ben, and my father?”

Kylo’s hands on his cutlery tighten to white. 

“They are happy you’re home,” Luke concludes.

“You speak to him?” Leia asks.

A nod. Hux feels his heart kind of skip a bit. How must that feel, to be able to reconnect with a parent who you lost? His in-law-to-be and fiancé’s Master never had the lack of fortune to be raised by Darth Vader, but in death…

“I could show you how to do it,” Luke offers to Leia. “If you’d like.”

It’s almost too personal to witness, so he turns to Rey. “Did you talk to any of them, yet?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. Most of my training was floating things or carrying things. And then using my staff or saber.”

“Sounds…”

“Difficult,” she admits. “But good.”

“It’s the meditation I couldn’t understand,” Kylo admits from Hux’s other side. “I just couldn’t find the focus, the… calm. I was better in action.”

“Couldn’t you use action, instead, then?” Hux asks. “Like… keep moving, and while your body is busy?”

“Where were you when I was having a crisis of belief?” Kylo sighs, and stuffs half a bread roll in at once. 

“We discussed this… I was busy being trained to be a xenophobic asshole,” Hux explains. “You wouldn’t have liked me back then.”

“When did you… change?” Rey asks.

“…nineteen.”

“That long?”

“It was very hard to get away.” He shrugs.

And is surprised by the hands on either side, just touching him very gently. It makes something sort of spark in his chest, and he grabs his drink to hide it, swallowing a mouthful. 

“We were nineteen, when we destroyed the first Death Star,” Leia says. “It seems like it’s an important number.”

“…well I haven’t blown up any Death Stars.”

“You came over, though,” Kylo pushes. “And you’ve probably saved thousands of lives. Even more if you count all the ones you would have taken.”

He didn’t think of it like that. Huh. Not only the good he did do, but the evils he didn’t. Not bad. “I suppose I’ve done a really good job, then. Probably would have blown up, like, five planets by now.”

Kylo chokes on his food. 

“What? I would be good as a bad guy. Well. Efficient. You know what I mean.”

“I do, and it worries me.”

***

After the meal, Hux feels pleasantly relaxed. It all felt so homely, so normal. No real nerves about sitting around a table with four Force-sensitives, one smuggler General and one tall Wookie whose language he didn’t speak. He felt… like he belonged. 

It’s nice, and the spreading warmth in his chest as they get to their home has him grabbing Kylo at the doorstep.

“Hux, are you—“

Hux stops the question with a kiss. Hands on the face, fingers around the jaw, nose bumping cheek and lips speaking wordlessly before just the slightest hint of tongue. They’ve been very gentle with one another since the Incident, but Hux just _has_ to kiss him.

“Sorry,” he says, against his mouth.

Kylo’s panting, his eyes hazy when Hux pulls back to look at them. His hands are clutching Hux’s shirt, and he… doesn’t look upset.

“I thought you… I thought you wouldn’t want me,” Kylo admits, around a nervous-only giggle. 

“Of course I want you. I just didn’t want you to feel you had to, or… remember things you didn’t want to.”

“I don’t. I mean. Maybe, but…”

“Do you want me to make love to you?” Hux asks, leaning in to his ear. “Show you how much I want you? How good I want to make you feel?” He’s been remiss. He’s been holding back, but maybe part of it’s been his own inability to think of the good parts without the bad.

He’s ready now, though, if Kylo is.

And by the whimper, and the shirt pulled out of his pants, Kylo _is_.

***

Inside the door, kicked shut, and Hux can’t keep his hands off his fiancé. It’s like the dampening’s gone, and he’s not sure why he felt like that. (Logically he knows, but right now he doesn’t ‘know’.) Shirts pulled away, arms crossing and little laughs as they flounder and cross lines more than a few times. 

Kylo’s skin tastes of the day and Hux lets his lips wander from shoulder to nipple to shoulder to nipple. He nips and licks and sucks, and there’s teeth in the curve of his neck making his whole body jangle like keys on a finger. 

“H-hux, I—“

He grazes up, over his neck, to his earlobe. Growls, and tugs.

“ _Please_ ,” Kylo begs.

“What do you want?”

“I d-don’t know.”

Which makes it much harder. Okay. He can work with that. His fingers stroke up and down Kylo’s sides, and he growls: “Bed.”

Kylo nods, and shucks off his pants as he goes, so Hux does the same. Boots kicked off, socks removed, and when they get close, he grabs for Kylo’s wrist and twists it. Pulls it up and over his back, towards his shoulderblades, and leans in against him. Flush to his calves, his ass, his spine. His nose draws warm lines over the back of his neck. 

“Do you want it soft, or do you want it hard?”

“Yes?”

Hux snorts. “What if I tie you down, and fuck you gently?”

A moan, and a nod says that’s the best idea. He pushes against him one more time, then slams his hands out wide. The cuffs clink on, but he tightens the leashing, pulling his shoulders harder than usual. Legs still over the side of the bed, he grabs them and yanks them wide, lashing them into place, and leaving Kylo powerless and frozen into place. He can feel the fight going out of him, and his fingers ease over his lower back and then his shoulders, checking it isn’t _too_ tight. 

That done, he stands up to admire the man bound and restrained, and wonders again how he got this lucky.

“Hux…”

“You’re so _beautiful_ ,” he breathes, and watches as it makes Kylo grow and shrink at the same time. “I love you so damn much.”

“Even… even with everything?”

“I don’t care about that. I care about _you_.”

Kylo whimpers, and arches his spine. He’s obviously delighted, and the feeling is mutual. He doesn’t want to look too deeply into why Kylo enjoys being restrained. He does. He looks beautiful. He _is_ beautiful. Hux grabs the lube, slicking a thumb and sliding between his cheeks. 

“ _Oh_.”

Hux smirks. “You like that?”

Kylo nods, pulling uselessly in the restraints. He wants to feel secure, and he moans again at the lack of movement available to him.

“You’re so gorgeous. So strong for still trusting. For being able to let go. You know that, don’t you? So strong. So fierce.”

A whine, and Kylo’s hips twist, his butt pushing onto the thumb. Not to disobey, but to show willing. He sees the pucker swallow his digit whole, and he starts to work it in and out by degrees. Kylo’s thighs tremble, and he’s a fluid, sensuous mass of nerves and sighs. 

“Nothing could stop me wanting you,” Hux goes on. “Nothing. Do you hear me? You’re broken, but that’s fine. I still love you. I still _want_ you.”

“Fuck me,” Kylo begs. “Please. Please. Show me I’m still yours.”

“Oh, you _are_. All of you.” He swirls the thumb around, opening him up. Even the few days of no sex hasn’t done anything to stop Kylo’s body reacting to him, now. “Mine. All mine. And mine because you let me, and I am so damn grateful.”

Kylo kicks and pulls, and Hux grabs the back of his neck, keeping him from too much bucking as he uses that single digit. He’s going to be pretty tight. Not painfully so, but so he feels it. He grabs his balls, and then his hand vanishes to find his cock. A drag between his cheeks, up and down, up and down, until Kylo’s a begging wreck.

“Ask me.”

“ _Please fuck me please please please!_ ”

“Why?”

“…love you! Love you… yours, I swear, I—“

Hux pushes in, grabbing for his hips, keeping Kylo pulled back onto his dick. “You are mine. Nothing will make me stop loving you. Nothing. No one. Nothing.”

He should have done this days ago, but back then, he’d been so upset that he couldn’t. Not because of Kylo, but because of what others – Snoke – had done to him. He hadn’t been able to be what Kylo needed, and…

“I’m sorry,” Hux whispers, as he sinks to lie flat over him.

“N-no.”

“I’m sorry. For things you should never have had happen. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry for any day I make it worse, or don’t help.” The guilt rushes up and to his tongue, and saying it makes the hot, angst-filled bubble go.

“I forgive you,” Kylo whispers in return. “Just love me.”

“I do,” Hux promises, and starts to move, slow and slow. “Oh, I do.”

Kylo’s body opens around him, the tightness giving way with every push inside. He imagines each rut drives more pain out, and the kisses and feel of his hands under his own is so, so healing. They’re not going to let the past stop them, not forever. They could stay in pain, or they could move through, and Hux knows which he wants.

This. Home. A family. A lover. A _home_. He finds himself tearing up too, and he finds Kylo’s head tilted to beg for kisses. The thrusting turns to rocking as he gives him those kisses, tongues sliding back and forth as they remember each other. 

_I love you so much_. 

The thought just resonates around his head, and Hux thinks it right back to him. He shimmies, rocking from foot to foot, and breaks the kiss to push their noses together. 

“We’re free, now. We’re free.”

“S-soon.”

One of their tormentors is dead. The other is not. Hux knows, but…

“You’re free, because you can choose to be here, with me. Even if we haven’t killed him, you’re still free. You’re free because you can be happy, and he’d never want that.”

A break – like his back snapping – and a mental begging for more. Over and over. Hux grins, and pecks another kiss.

“You want it, baby?”

The endearment causes a little laugh, and Hux beams, too.

“I want it.”

“Want me to show you how sexy you are, how good we can feel?”

“ _Didn’t I say so_?” Kylo asks, a little impatience, but a lot of affection.

Hux laughs all the way through the rough fucking, pounding Kylo into a purring, melting mess. 


	45. Chapter 45

Sometime long after any sensible person would go to sleep, Hux feels himself jolted into consciousness. He isn’t sure what’s done it, but when he glances sideways in bed, he sees Kylo’s face drawn into battle-lines, his lips pulled thin and his eyes dancing under his closed lids. 

Worried, he rocks him, gently. “Kylo… Kylo…”

The man groans, then his hand shoots to his hip, grabbing for a hilt that isn’t there. His eyes open, and Hux feels a whip of the wind shoving in front of Kylo. It only glances his face, but things further into the room rustle and shake. 

“Hey,” he says, clutching the man’s upper arm. “It’s just a dream.”

“It isn’t,” Kylo replies. “It was a vision. He’s – it’s coming.”

***

When they get to Leia and Han’s place – the unspoken headquarters of their extended family – Rey and Luke are already there.

Leia is in a long nightshirt, with a robe over the top. Han’s in shorts and a t-shirt. Luke is dressed as sombrely as he dresses in the day, and Rey has on normal pants and a light shirt.

Hux feels fine in his own clothing, now. He’d insisted they put enough on for the walk from their home to Leia’s. 

“So, this is one of those Force things, huh?” Han asks.

Hux feels some sympathy for him, but only a little. Surrounded by intelligence he can’t reach. It’s a little difficult, but it also means his dreams are only haunted by his own problems, and not those of others. 

“The Order are gearing up,” Luke agrees. “We need to draw Snoke out.”

“I don’t think that part will be a problem.” Leia pulls her robe tighter, huddling into the couch.

She looks old, suddenly. Hux realises this has been almost all of her life. It was supposed to stop with the fall of the Empire, and it hasn’t. On and on and on. Will he be the Han, sitting beside Kylo? If they survive that long? Will they be old men and still—

A hand on the small of his back, a thumb sliding reassuringly. 

“I think Leia is right,” Rey says. “He’s calling _us_ out.”

“He still has six Knights,” Kylo adds. “And there are only three of us.”

“Three against seven… sounds about right,” Han mutters. “Anyway. Luke went two to one. You’re pretty much the same odds as against the Emperor, huh?”

“Not helpful,” Leia snaps.

“But correct. We were… though I benefitted greatly from my father coming back from the Dark. Kylo… do you think any of the six could be turned?”

That makes Hux’s fiancé jump. “My… Knights?”

“You knew them better than anyone,” Hux points out. “And _you_ came back.”

“Because you talked me into it!”

“So? You talk _them_ into it,” Leia says. “If there’s any hope for any of them, we have to try. Sooner, rather than later.”

Chewbacca groans something from the doorway, finally grumping his way into the meeting.

Hux looks to Kylo for translation.

“He wants to know what the vision was,” comes the explanation.

“Fair point,” Hux concedes. 

“I saw… I saw a tall room, with shadows of saber-light,” Rey says. “A fight… and a cold rage inside of me.”

“I saw planets exploding,” Luke adds. “From inside. Exploding out with a great loss of life.”

Hux looks up to Kylo. 

“I saw… the same,” he lies. 

Hux can tell he’s lying.

But if everyone else can, no one is rude enough to say.

***

Back home, and Kylo knows Hux knows. Hux knows Kylo knows he knows. Which means, when the door shuts, they look at one another to see who will admit it first.

“I saw… death.”

Hux waits, not sure what to say, really.

“I don’t know who. I just… I felt like something bright went out in the Force. And then I woke up. I heard Snoke laughing, but…”

“You’re afraid it will come true?”

“Force visions don’t always, and they don’t always come true like you see them, but they’re definitely… warnings.”

“Could it have been Snoke dying?”

Kylo shrugs. “It’s possible. It’s possible no one will die, and I’d like that very much.”

“Even your Knights?”

They’ve never spoken about them before. Never discussed the six souls who were under his command, other than Ithon. Hux wonders, now, if this was because of his episode, and a desire to protect him. 

Hux pulls him to the couch, and grabs a cushion. He puts it on his lap, and tugs Kylo to lie down and put his head there. His legs drape over the edge of the couch, and Hux combs the man’s hair out from under him, so he can play with it as they talk.

He’s tired, but there’s no way he can properly fall asleep right now. The adrenaline is too high. 

“I don’t… know,” Kylo admits. “I was the youngest, bar one. Most of them were already his students. They resented me as his protégé, but… they listened to his command. I don’t think they would have followed me if it wasn’t for Snoke.”

“So you don’t think they’ll follow you, now?”

“I can’t even make a case for either side of the Force. I’m stuck somewhere in the middle, and my Jedi Master wants _me_ to teach _him_. Who would follow me?”

“Rey did,” Hux points out. “And Luke does. If not follow… listen.”

“My uncle went crazy on a rock in the middle of nowhere after I murdered all my fellow Jedi,” Kylo replies. “You really think he’s a good judge of character?”

“I think he’s better than he was.” Hux bends, kissing his forehead. “You can only offer them the choice to make their own paths. And if they choose not to… that’s on them, not on you.”

Kylo reaches for his hand, and they clasp tightly. “We’ll see.”

***

“We have intelligence that there’s about to be a run on some old Imperial worlds,” Ackbar says. “The chatter from Ematt’s group identifies several key targets.”

“Are we any further forward with the Senate?” Poe asks.

“I’m afraid they still don’t like to face the fact the Order wants war.” Leia looks pained to admit it.

Hux can understand. They’re all here defending democracy, and democracy is voting to hide from the truth. He can – in some respects – understand the Order’s doctrine. The wheels of the Republic rotate very slowly indeed. But it is, he thinks, better than one fast wheel that throws half of everyone off.

“We need people on the ground, but not a huge presence, to feed back what’s going on.” Ematt looks pointedly over. “We’d like to send you two.”

“I’m going, too,” Rey pipes up. 

Hux looks to Luke, then back to Rey. “Are you sure?”

“I need to help,” she insists. “And if my visions were correct, we need to stay together.”

“What about you?” Kylo asks his uncle.

“The Force wants me somewhere else. Somewhere… I need to go on my own.”

Leia and her twin exchange a look, but Hux has no idea if she’s happy with this development or not.

“Briefings to me before anyone leaves D’Qar,” she says, and everyone is dismissed.

***

The ship they’re given is different, which is both a blessing and a curse. Not that Hux thinks he and Kylo will get much alone time on mission, but at least this one has two bedrooms for them. 

Plus Rey as a pilot, with him in the second seat. She’s definitely got the edge on him, and that’s fine by Hux. 

Kylo, meanwhile, plays with his saber-hilt behind them. Hux keeps glancing back and seeing it levitate and spin, which is what his fiancé does whenever he’s most stressed and not able to vent any other way. 

“Did Luke put you up to this?” the Knight asks.

“Coming with you?” Rey doesn’t even look away from the viewscreen, her hands sliding fluidly over the controls. “No. It was the Force.”

“And the droid?”

Hux swivels his seat around. “What droid?”

“R2. Again.” Kylo cocks his head back to the rear of the ship.

“R2 said he had to come. I don’t know if that was Luke’s doing, or not,” Rey admits.

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Hux doesn’t like the sudden tension between the two again. He’d thought they were over that? 

Rey does stop, then, her hands stilling. “I know as much as you do. I know he’s… I know he’s hiding something from both of us. It’s partly why I wanted to come with you.”

Kylo snatches his saber from the air. “I knew it.” He sounds _angry_. 

“What?”

“ _It’s Jedi Business_ ,” Kylo drolls, in a mocking tone. “That’s all. He’s gone off to be mysterious and leave us all in the dark.”

Rey’s head drops. “I think he’s struggling. When we were training… it wasn’t easy for him.”

“You think it’s easy for any of us?”

Hux grabs the arms of his chair. “It’s hard for us all, Kylo. In different ways. You know he’s just as Human as you are. He’s going to have things that he finds difficult, just like you.”

“The galaxy seems to think just because you’re a Jedi – or have the Force – that you should be able to handle things better,” Rey thinks aloud. “But we’re just the same as other people. The only difference is it can be more… dangerous if we’re out of control.”

“I know that.” Kylo’s eyes look hurt. “Someone else loses it for a day, maybe they fuck up their job, or fuck over their family, or they lose a shipment of spice. We fuck up? We fall, we turn to evil, and the galaxy suffers for years on end.”

“It’s an unfair amount of pressure.” Hux rubs his lips with two fingers. “You’re given more responsibility, because of your gifts.”

“Gifts that make it easier for us to fall, too.” Kylo shoves up to his feet, ready to storm out. 

Hux grabs his wrist. “We’re all with you.”

“You’re with me _now_.”

“We’re with you always,” Hux corrects him. “We’re here to help you through those pulls. Those… days.”

Rey nods. “I think Master Luke wanted to talk to his teachers. I know he feels responsible for failing you. He didn’t want to fail me, the same way. It was hard to get him to show me things, he wanted to go slower than I was ready for.”

“Did he teach you about the Dark? At all?”

“A little. But not enough. He said he’d felt the call, but that he knew it wasn’t stronger, or Darth Vader would never have saved him.”

Kylo snorts. “It wasn’t Light that did that. The Light wants you to give up your emotions, your connections. He didn’t save Luke because it was the _right_ thing to do.”

“He saved him for love,” Hux says. “He saved him with the Darkness.”

“He still became one with the Force,” Rey says. “No matter what, when he saved Luke, when he saved the galaxy, he… did it.”

“And now Luke is running off again—“

“He needs to ground himself, too.” Rey almost sounds like she believes it utterly. She believes it enough. “I don’t think he’s lying to us, or hiding things from us. I think he’s struggling just like we are.”

“Being a Jedi doesn’t look to be all that calm and serene.” Hux had heard the childhood tales everyone had, or… through another prism, first. Warlike, unemotional soldiers with laser swords. A force of nature, cruel and unbending, like cosmic justice itself.

Or that’s what he’d taken from the stories, anyway. He had never seen them as people who could laugh, cry, or feel fear. 

“I’m sorry.” Kylo slumps back into the seat. “It’s… I grew up thinking Luke could fix everything. _Hoping_ he could. When they sent me to him, I was upset that I felt they couldn’t cope with me any more, but I hoped he would fix me.”

“He wanted to. I could feel it, when he trained me. He was fighting against his fear. He told me fear could lead to the Dark Side. Is that…?”

Kylo nods. “It can. The Dark is… the Dark is emotion. If you give in to your emotion, then it’s there. Whether it’s positive, or negative.”

“How?”

“…your fear makes you act instinctively. To protect, to fight. It’s the natural instinct of the cornered animal… and no more evil than a Loth-cat in a corner. But it’s not always the most… helpful response. You want to be able to weigh up your options, but…”

Rey frowns. “I thought I was supposed to feel the will of the Force?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s not thinking.”

“No… I… if I understood, I wouldn’t have ended up masked and murdering, Rey. We’re not supposed to feel, but we’re not supposed to think, either.”

Hux doesn’t know how you work out what to do, then. “How do other emotions lead to the Dark?”

“From happiness… pride. Or… giddiness. From love, the jealous fear of loss. From anger… that makes sense.”

“I don’t want to not feel happy, or proud, or love,” Rey says very, very quietly. 

There’s a long pause, and Hux has to break it. “What does the Force feel like? I mean… emotionally? Does it feel happy, or sad, or…?”

“Everything,” Kylo admits. “It flows through us all. It feels like everyone feels. When you reach into it, it’s… every life, and everything that breathes. It’s movement, music, light… and… knowledge.”

“I felt his emotions through the Force,” Rey admits. “He felt those things.”

Hux’s knee bounces, and he stills it. “What did he tell you to do with your own?”  

“To be aware of them, and to look at what they were, and why. And then… to look outside me, to the Force.”

“The Dark Side is like… is like using your emotion to open that door. The Light was about stopping yourself from existing, to let the door open itself.” Kylo shakes his head. “No, that’s not right. I don’t… know how to explain it. I just know when I feel deeply, I’m stronger. And that it isn’t easy for me to _not_ feel.”

“Not not-feel. But not let your emotions deafen you to the Force, to the galaxy?” Rey flexes her fingers, and looks up at him. “Feel them, but don’t be ruled by them. Feel them, but don’t think they’re bigger than the Force itself.”

Hux sees a little light dawn on Kylo’s face, and then he walks closer to Rey. “Be aware of myself, and feel what I feel, but be aware of myself within the whole?”

Her smile is bright enough to blind a lesser man, Hux thinks. “Yes. Your feelings, but in the galaxy. Real, important, but not the only feelings.”

“Teach me,” Kylo begs. 

“I don’t know how?” Rey’s face falls. “It’s just… I don’t even know why I said it.”

“But it’s right. I can tell, it’s right.” Kylo holds out his hand. “Will you meditate with me?”

Kylo very rarely wants to meditate. Hux has seen him try only a few times, and this… the hope on his face? It’s spreading, and powerful. 

“If you think I can help,” she says. 

“You’ve already helped me more than Snoke ever did,” he admits. “He kept me forever on edge, forever… unable to find my balance.”

Rey looks to Hux for permission, then nods. “If you’ll help me. I need to know the Dark inside of me. I can help you find your Light, if you help me find that.”

“Is this… a safe time and place?” Hux asks.

“Nowhere is safe for this,” Kylo replies. “But you don’t have to watch, if it will—“

“I want to.” He really does. 


	46. Chapter 46

Hux feels unease the minute they enter the airspace above Ord Sedra, out in the Clacis sector. He can’t pin down what it is, but he catches the glances the two Force-sensitives are sharing. That makes him feel even _worse_ about this whole situation.

“Are you going to tell me, or do I need to beat it out of you? It _was_ my job, once upon a time…”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Kylo replies, his words picked over carefully like they’re shards of broken glass. “I sense… a disturbance in the Force, but I can’t tell you _what_.”

Not helpful. “A disturbance like – what are they normally? At least, a rough idea?”

Kylo doesn’t want to answer, but he flinches under Hux’s gaze, and relents at least a little. “Death and violence on a large scale. Riotous emotion of any kind. Major Force-use…”

“So, unless they’re having their New Year parties now…?”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Rey mutters. 

Hux likes this less and less. “Do we abort?”

“Not after we got this far. We need to see it through… you don’t have to come, though.” 

“Kylo, if you think I’m going to sit behind while you two risk your asses…”

“Who said I was going?” Rey jokes, weakly. Her face isn’t happy.

“Well, _I_ am going. Whoever is joining me better be ready to shoot or stab their way out of it,” Kylo announces. “I want to know what they’re doing here.”

If Kylo is going, Hux is most definitely going to be there to watch his six. And not even because of how nice it is.

***

Hux feels for his blaster three times while Rey is landing in the small hangar. He knows he’s woefully outgunned (or outsabered) by his two travelling companions, but that never stopped Han Solo, right? Or… or Leia? Even if she has the Force, she never had a saber of her own, did she? So he’ll be fine. He will.

The hangar is one of those ‘pay in credits’ types, where you slip a few _extra_ credits to make sure you’re not ‘noticed’. The intel the Resistance has is that the Bothan in charge is amenable to their cause, and he’s certainly amenable to their coins. 

And when he’s slipped a few _more_ , he nods towards one of the holo-ads for a nearby cantina, and mutters a name of someone with their finger on the local pulse. Which is where they’re headed, now.

At least in a cantina they can get a drink.

Hux slings his thumbs through his beltloops, feeling for the weighted bounce of the blaster in his thigh-holster, conscious of the grip around his upper leg. It’s fine to carry so openly, especially on a planet like Ord Sedra. The streets are pretty vibrant: flashing signs, fragrant food and pungent ‘food’ for others, noisy vendors hawking wares…

It’s a moment before he registers the sheer wonder on Rey’s face. The way her eyes slide up buildings taller than she must ever have imagined, and across the raucous, expensive-cheap stalls they pass.

“Like it?” he asks.

“It’s great,” she enthuses, some of her trepidation gone in the face of such a cosmopolitan outlook. “It goes up forever.”

“You should see Coruscant sometime,” Kylo says. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it doesn’t _quite_ hit the perfect note. He’s trying, which he has to get some credit for. “Or Nar Shaddaa: the Smuggler’s Moon. Those have layers that haven’t seen their suns in decades.”

“Will you take me?”

“And me,” Hux pipes up. “I’ve not been to many of the Core Worlds.” The Smuggler’s Moon is Hutt space, but he would like to do the touristy thing, some time before he dies. 

“Really?” Kylo stops still. “Why not?”

“…The Order didn’t exactly send me on vacations, and then when I joined the Resistance, my duties mostly involved staying on bases. On backwater planets.” Then he realises how that sounded. “No offence.”

He watches the cogs whir through Kylo’s head. “I’ll take you both. Anywhere you want to go. Once we’ve – once it’s over, I’ll show you everything. If you fly.”

“I’ll fly,” Rey offers. “And we can get a big ship. If… you want.”

Hux watches Kylo’s ears and nose supernova as he realises the implications. “Uh – for… bags.”

“For bags,” she agrees, and nods him to keep going. “Come on, it’s pretty here, but I don’t want to stay.”

***

Inside the cantina, the air is thick and rich with spices and other things Hux wishes he didn’t know the scent of. Sweat, sometimes. Maybe even lubricant, though he wants to pretend he can’t smell that so he doesn’t feel gross when they next have penetrative sex, thank you very much. There’s a band (‘band’) playing, and dancers swaying their hips around.

Rey’s earlier ease around their personal relationship goes absolutely out the window at seeing such overtly sexualised behaviour. This is probably her first cantina, too. Hux puts a hand on her elbow and leans in: “Don’t worry, we’re here.”

“I’m not worried,” she says right back at him. “Not for the reasons you think.”

Which is when he sees both of them have their hands on their saber-hilts, and he has to write that down as the misunderstanding of the century.

Standing behind the bar is a man he wishes he didn’t know. He’d apparently been blocked from view straight off, but now he sees the dreaded outfit of one Ithon Ren. Beside him, another Knight sits on the surface of the bar, their legs kicking over the edge, churlish and childish.

“Took your time, Kylo,” Ithon purrs.

“I should rip your throat out for what you did,” Kylo replies, but all he’s done is unhooked his saber. It hasn’t even ignited yet.

People seem to notice the weapons, now, and quite a few sidle towards the doors. Hux does not blame them one bit, he would be doing the same if he was just clientele.

“Hey, he survived, didn’t he?”

“Only because Kylo saved me.” For which Hux is incredibly grateful, but he’d rather have not needed saving in the first place.

Hux does not like Ithon.

Hux would go so far as to say that, after the late Brendol Hux and the Supreme Leader Snoke, Ithon Ren is Hux’s least favourite entity in the galaxy.  

“Don’t see the appeal,” the other Knight says, helmet not hiding the slide up and down over his body, making him feel… gross. 

Hux has no idea of their name, because Kylo has never spoken about the group in any real depth. 

“The girl looks more interesting. You got yourself a new student?”

“I’m training with him,” Rey agrees. “You should, too. He has a lot to teach.”

“Yeah, we kinda already know everything he knows.” The nameless one slinks to their feet. Hux can’t even tell what their gender is, under all those layers of black. Not that it matters, but not knowing how to refer to them is – for some reason – incredibly irritating.

“Snoke is using you,” Kylo tries. And Hux can hear how hard that is for him, trying to talk down the man who tortured his fiancé. “He isn’t giving you truth, or even freedom. He’s using you, and he’ll keep on using you until you’re drained, or you’re a threat. And then you’re gone.”

“Someone who wasn’t strong enough to follow the real path would say something like that,” Ithon says, hand see-sawing the air as he does.

Which is meant to distract from the other Knight igniting their blade and bringing it crashing down.

Hux catches the movement just before the red light comes out, but Kylo and Rey are already on it. One saber becomes four, and people _do_ start to scream and run, now. Hux levels his blaster off and tries to fire at Ithon, but the four Force-users are charging and clashing already. He can’t get a clear shot off, and he can’t risk injuring either Rey or Kylo.

So much for staying under the radar and scoping out tricks; Hux is beginning to wonder if this whole thing was an ambush. It would make more sense than _not_ , but he’ll interrogate any survivors after the battle. They have to win it, first.

Speaking of, as things get increasingly hairy, he decides the best thing to do is jump behind the bar and use it as cover and also a rest to steady his sights. It’s also helpfully near the alcohol, but he doesn’t really think there’ll be time for a round now.

“He’s not been teaching you very well,” Nameless Ren taunts Rey, their fighting style one of rapidly shifting locks and pushes. 

Rey is struggling, though it seems to be with the aggression and not with technique or speed. There’s less anger in her movements, and she’s blocking more than she’s attacking. He tries shooting there, but the Force-user just spins the combat around to keep Rey between them, and he curses his lack of abilities.

There’s a crash to the other side of the room and his attention flicks right. 

In any other setting, watching Kylo like this would be achingly beautiful. He leaps and careens off any and every surface, using height and sheer brute physicality to slam down at the lither, slighter Ithon. His cross-guarded saber catches on the other blade, and those blows have to be pounding shockwaves into both Knight’s arms with how fierce they are. Whirl, spin, a red circle of light and the hum and hiss as they connect. 

Ithon throws things with the Force. Kylo stops them, holds them, and then sends them back at Ithon in retaliation. The level of concentration he’s showing is astronomical… as is the pure, animal movement of his body and blade, each an extension of the other.

Hux isn’t sure he’d ever trust himself to get so invested in a fight. He’s seen Luke Skywalker’s artificial hand, and he’s heard even worse stories about Darth Vader – or Anakin Skywalker – whichever name you wanted to use for him. Maybe if he had the Force he’d feel more capable, but he’s still not convinced. 

Rey calls out in pain, and Hux leaps over the bar.

Only to be slammed - face-first - down onto the counter by an invisible hand as long as his spine. He squirms under the pressure, unable to even move his arm to let off a single shot. Panic floods through his system, making every limb feel cold.

Hux tries to yell for help, but his voice isn’t responding, and he watches in pure horror as a blow slices across Rey’s chest. The woman pales under the pain, and then either blacks out, or is forcibly _made_ to. Unless. Unless it’s worse. Unless she didn’t ‘black out’, and–

Inside his head, Hux screams, trying to get Kylo’s attention. He’s still screaming when something grabs hold of his ankles and pulls him off the counter, and the cantina lights up with blasterfire. 

This is. Not. Good. Hux feels his hands clasped behind his back, and a hood thrown over his head. Unlike Rey, he’s not rendered unconscious, but he _is_ thrown over a shoulder and he feels – the fucking _indignity of it_ – a muzzle pushing into his ass when he tries to kick and buck out of the grasp.

Kylo? Where is Kylo? He hears a roar of pain and there’s a sudden shockwave pulse, and then he’s out like a blown engine.


	47. Chapter 47

When he wakes up, Hux jolts upright to find the room dimly lit. His movement activates the lights, which flood through his skull and burn after-images on the backs of his retinas. His hands behind him support his weight, and he realises – ah.

How fitting. It’s a cot, and he’s in a cell, and for a minute he wonders if he’s just dreamt several months of happiness, or maybe several years. 

He’s wearing a jumpsuit – grey – and it feels like there’s no personal belongings in pockets at all. No holster on his thigh (of course), and no one in the room with him.

Hux looks for an adjoining wall, hoping beyond hope that there’ll be a Kylo right there. Or maybe it would be better if he isn’t, because then he might be safe. Hux thinks he’d prefer Kylo to be safe, but he also wouldn’t know if he was safe if he wasn’t _here_ because—his legs swing over the edge of the cot, and his hands go up and into his hair.

He remembers Rey being hurt. The image is burned into his mind: a sweep of a blade and the way her body crumpled. He remembers his vision stolen, and he remembers being lifted. A screamed voice from Kylo, and nothing more.

His fingers tighten, pulling so hard his eyes prick with water. 

A moment to panic, and then he has to keep his mind going before he lies on the cot and his mind destroys him from the inside out. 

Up, and he paces around the room. It’s closed on all four sides, with only a door. It’s not the base on D’Qar, and so it isn’t like he’s woken from a dream. There are no visible holo-recorders, but that means nothing. There’s almost certainly several, in case he blocks one, or turns away from it.

A bed. A sink. A toilet. No table, no chair, no ligature points, no personal items or distractions. 

Hux pats himself down, just to confirm there’s nothing hidden in a pocket or taped to his body. Nada. Zilch. 

He’s… he’s a prisoner. And he has no idea where Rey or Kylo are, or if they’re even alive.

Now would be a lovely time to scream, but he doesn’t even have the energy in his soul to do that. He looks up at the corners of the room, indicating his wakefulness and his readiness to talk.

Until he speaks with someone, he’s going to need to keep his mind from sinking.

The first thing to think about is any song he’s ever loved. He sings them internally, flooding out everything else.

***

Hux’s nails are bitten to the quick – tiny flecks of blood around the beds – when he’s finally given some company and external stimulus. He curls his fingers against his palms to conceal the minor self-injuries, embarrassed by the nervous tic. 

Surprisingly, the man who enters the room is in First Order commissioned officer uniform, and not masked in white or black. Hux scans the signs of rank – Lieutenant – and then glances up to read the man’s clean-shaven face.

“We have rescued you,” says the Lieutenant.

“Funny, not the word I was going to use.”

“You’re Commandant Hux’s son, yes?”

“Legally.” Biologically. Maybe even emotionally, but not ideologically.

“Then we’re glad to welcome you home,” the man goes on, with apparent zeal. “I’m Lieutenant Mitaka. You can refer to me as Mitaka, if you’d like.”

“Very well, Mitaka.” He speaks to him as if to a subordinate, knowing how that can affect a man. “If I’m rescued, then it stands to reason I am free to leave. So put me down on an Outer Rim world with a few credits.”

He ignores it entirely. “It’s been a long time since you were home. We’ve got a lot to catch you up on.”

“You do realise I _left of my own free will_ , don’t you? If you’ve seen my… actually, you might not have seen my file. What did they tell you about me?”

Mitaka does not wince, or break his perfectly composed expression. “That you are the son of the late Commandant Brendol Hux. That you were subject to the lies of the Republic’s regime.”

“I left of my own free will,” Hux repeats. “Because I realised this – this…” he gestures around at the room, and means much more. “This was all wrong. And xenophobic. And disgusting, and terrible.”

“They have filled your head with their lies. The Republic is a flawed, bloated, corporatocratic and bureaucratic mess.” 

Mitaka repeats the words, but Hux can’t feel any emotional connection to the ideas. Does he even understand the terms? Does he even understand enough of the counter argument to come to a reasoned decision? Hux sighs. This is difficult to do _away_ from the Order. Inside their walls, and at their mercy, it’s even harder.

He should know. He did it to himself.

“I’m not going to change my mind, Lieutenant. If you’ve been sent to talk me around, you’re wasting your time, and mine.”

“You will see sense,” Mitaka says, and he sounds sure of that, if nothing else. “We are going to save you.”

“I was doing just fine until you kidnapped me, you know.” More than fine. He’d been _happy_ for the first time he could ever remember. Happy. Loved. A member of a real family, with a real goal and sense of purpose. Happy.

“You should get some rest. Your re-education will begin tomorrow.”

“I don’t even have a chrono,” Hux points out. “Or anything. You’ve put me in prisoner’s clothing, and taken everything from me.”

Mitaka considers that, and then nods. “I will get the time projected onto the wall for you.”

The time. Right. So he can watch his life ticking away in here. He supposes he did ask for that, though, so it’s unreasonable to protest. 

“If I asked you what happened to the two people I was with, would you tell me?”

“The Jedi?”

He nods.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Of course he doesn’t. Although he might actually not know, so Hux can’t read the truth on his face.

He watches the Lieutenant go, and then sits back down on the bed.

He can’t sleep.

Not for hours, anyway.

***

Day two begins when the lights fade back up, and a ringing noise in the room indicates he should rise. Hux does so, but only to open his eyes and look around the room.

He’s hungry, but also he feels nausea cramping at his stomach. It’s possible some of the nausea comes from not having eaten in howeverlong, but he can’t tell for sure. 

He does not get out of his cot.

Eventually, he has to piss. Hux gets up and wanders to the small toilet, relieving himself. He washes his hands clean, and then turns his head under the tap to drink.

The water stops. 

Wonderful. 

He looks around and sees one wall has a flashing light, the wall facing his cot. He stares for a moment, then touches where the light indicates, and up comes a menu screen.

Multiple ‘courses’. Instructional videos. Lessons. 

In other words, conditioning material. 

Hux is not stupid. He realises they’ll keep food and drink from him until he buys into their ‘re-education’ program. Maybe give him just enough to keep him from dying, but miserable. He knows, because it’s a tactic in some part he’s employed himself.

Not very long ago, either. 

Hux feels even more nauseous. 

Mitaka probably thinks he’s saving Hux, much like Hux thought he was saving Kylo. Do this. Think as I do. Think _right_. Then you can be free, then you can be happy.

Hux does not want to press the buttons because if he does, he has to admit he did this exact thing to Kylo, and to no end of other people he ‘broke’. He also becomes complicit in his own torture, because he agreed to watch the damn vids.

On the other hand, he does need to keep his strength up if he’s to survive, and if he watches the videos when he’s already delusionally starved and exhausted… he’ll be less equipped to resist their messages. 

Fine. He presses the button, and then sits down on his bed. His eyes are nominally looking in the direction of the wall, but he unfocusses them, turning the images into blurs of colour and movement. Hearing is harder to block out when there’s nothing to distract, so he starts recounting the plots to holos he’s seen, or the recipes he likes to cook. Anything to pull his mind away from the lies trotted in front of his nose.

It’s not like he’s going to believe them. Not without some serious background work to break his will down. (Which he also knows how to do.) It’s the principle of the thing, of giving the lies the space inside his skull. They’ve put a lot of effort into this training, and he really wants to waste their efforts with all he has. 

Cakes are fun to think about, so he really throws himself into the baking of one. Sifting the sugar to make it fine. Measuring out set amounts. The not-enough, then too-much on the scales. The sensation of an egg cracking on the edge of the bowl, parting to goop out the insides, and the rainbow patterns dancing in the white as it dribbles into the mix. The spring inside the beater, and the resistance as he whips it up. Every step repeated with as much mental strength as he has, until his belly is grumbling at the memory of batter around the bowl. 

The screen has stopped moving. Hux looks up, and realises there’s questions on the wall. Or – more precisely – a question and multiple answers for him to pick from.

Bastards. Making sure he pays attention, are they?

More fool them. He can guess what their bullshit course wants him to say.

Hux answers two questions easily. The third, though… it isn’t one you can reason through with their flawed logic. It’s one of those ‘were you paying attention’ questions. He has to remember which fictional character in the scenario held which view-point, but he’d been fantasising about pre-heating an oven, so he has no idea.

If he gives up now, he’ll not get fed. He’s sure of that, even though no one has told him. He’s annoyed with them for being this smart, and he’s also trying to work out if he should refuse out of principle, or if he should cut his losses.

Four options. He presses.

It’s right. Or… it continues. Another question. He presses, and the screen fades. 

It goes back to the beginning of the training video, and Hux scratches his messy nails into his hands. He’s going to have to watch the damn thing anyway.

This is… this is awful.

Deep breath. Start again.

***

Not only are the questions context based, they’re also ridiculously involved. He’s watched the whole thing through five times before he manages to get all the questions right. He can’t even see the other questions coming so he knows what he needs to remember. Every time he gets one wrong, it resets to the beginning.

Hux is shattered, and all he’s done is lie on his bed and occasionally hit the wall. 

When he finishes the course, he is greeted by a steady image of the First Order’s logo. It burns white on the grey metal, and he staggers to the sink in the hopes he’ll get water.

The tap does not work. Hux is about to scream when the door opens, and a trooper walks in with a tray of food and drink. 

“For you, Sir,” the mechanical-inflected voice says, holding out the tray.

Hux fantasises, for a moment, about pushing the tray into his chest. Wrestling the blaster free. Wandering the corridors. Escaping back to his life, to his love. 

On his own, he’d get nowhere. The surveillance would be the death of him, that and the mass numbers of troopers available to wrestle him into submission, or worse. So he takes the tray and imagines the brave fight in great detail, and retreats to his cot.

The food looks tolerable. It’s all very bland and uniform, but it has colour and texture and sustenance. It’s not likely to be drugged, but even if it is, so what? They could drug his water, or the air, or just plain hold him down and shoot him full of anything. Resisting food he’s worked this hard for is counter-intuitive and unhelpful, so he eats it.

In space, food has to be ramped up in taste to even work, and the artificial sweet and sour tang isn’t anything like the good, cheap yet home-made food he’s now used to. Hux eats it slowly, trying not to over-stress his belly, even though he’s starving. Sips of the small juice box, and then he’s done.

There’s no cutlery to use against himself, or hide in the room, just a plastic straw that could barely be considered a tool. He pushes it up his sleeve in the hope they’ll give him this small luxury, and then places the tray by the door. 

The sink is working again, so he fetches the juice box to use, filling it and drinking from it. When he’s had his fill, he fills it one last time to save for later. 

When the trooper takes the tray and leaves the box of water and his straw, he nearly cheers.

Small victories.

And that’s day one. 


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you wish for.

Hux’s only way to keep track of the days is to collect the straw every fifth day and stash it under the mattress of his cot. He has no other real use for them, and he wonders if they care that he’s doing it or not. He needs to keep some kind of record, and it’s the only thing he can trust.

The training isn’t doing anything but annoy him. In fact, he doesn’t know why they aren’t relying on the more intensive methods he _knows_ they used to use. It’s unsettling, actually, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He _knows_ there’s a whole heap of tactics they aren’t yet employing (because that’s where he learned his trade, after all), so the omission has to mean something.

It’s thirty days before he sees another face that isn’t projected onto the screen, and it’s Mitaka’s again.

“What happened to Kylo and Rey?” he asks, the minute the man walks in.

“I’d like to take you out for a walk around the facility,” Mitaka replies.

“Not until you tell me what happened to Kylo and Rey.”

“I don’t have that information.”

“Then find it out.” He wants to know. If they’re dead, he wants to know. 

If Kylo is dead, then… Hux doesn’t know if there’s much of a reason for him to keep going. He’s not sure if he could ever sit across a table from the man’s parents, or stand in a briefing with General Organa in the same room. If he ever got out of here alive and intact.

If Kylo _is_ dead… Hux has… he’s lost basically the only thing he’s ever really been happy with. He’d been pleased with his decision to break free and make a life for himself of his own, but that paled into insignificance compared with someone to live it _with_. Alongside. For. 

Vengeance would be his only recourse, and what vengeance could one man wreak on an entire Order, spear-headed by Force-sensitives? None.

If Kylo isn’t dead, he can hold out hope he will come to rescue him again. It’s becoming a bit of a recurring nightmare, if he’s honest. At least the first time he’d been able to blame it on his own foolhardy emotional avoidance. To be taken captive once is understandable and bad luck – even Kylo had been. _And_ Leia Organa. But twice?

“I will look into it,” Mitaka lies. 

“I’m not leaving this room until I know.”

“And if it’s something you don’t want to hear?”

“Proof. I want proof. Or I’m not leaving.”

It’s petulant, but he needs to control _something_. He has barely anything left he can decide for himself, but he has to make a stand. Feeling so helpless is dehumanising, and he feels awful for everyone he did this to, even if his ‘end result’ was ‘good’. 

Mitaka nods, then clasps his hands behind his back. “They have taught you many things that are wrong.”

“You mean things like ‘other sentient species are just as important as Humans’?”

Mitaka does not even blink. “Rule can never be done by the masses. There are too many voices, and they are not all able to understand what needs to be done. If everything is done by committee, then—“

“Then at least everyone’s fucked together. Do you even know how the Republic works?”

“Do you?”

“More than you, it would seem. Did you know that people elect themselves a representative who is _supposed to be educated on the matter for them_?”

“And how can one representative possibly speak for all those beneath it?”

“You mean, like a Supreme Leader can?” Hux needles.

“The Supreme Leader _is_ educated. And he is one voice. He does not have to go through years of arguments to make a simple decision.”

“No, he could just decide to blow up a whole planet and do it,” Hux bites out.

“If he thought it helped.”

Wow. Just… wow. “…are you seriously telling me you would have no problem with a whole planet being _blown up_?” Because it’s not like it’s unheard of. Everyone knows Alderaan, more so now than when it still existed. 

“If it was needed.” Mitaka’s expression never falters, never fades. 

“Billions of lives.”

“There are billions upon billions more in the galaxy. You must think of the greater good.”

Hux wants to punch him in his stupid, not-understanding face. He realises quite a lot of his current rage comes from his captivity, his solitary confinement… but it doesn’t take away from the fact he feels it. The anger is a storm inside his chest, and he could easily beat this man to… no. Breathe. _Breathe_. Stop imagining it in graphic detail. Stop thinking the logistics through.

Hux isn’t sure how long he can stay sane here. Maybe he should just pretend, so he can get by. Would they accept it? Or would they push him to prove himself?

After some internal screaming, he squares his jaw. “Death isn’t ever good, unless you’re literally saving your own life, or those of others. When you’re only killing those who would actually kill you.”

“Yes.”

Logic has no place in the Order, does it? “There is not a whole planet of people trying to kill you.”

Mitaka doesn’t flinch, not even a bit. “The Leader understands.”

“Understands… what? Because so far, you’re just telling me you trust this one man to decide everything for everyone. Everyone. In the galaxy. You’re telling me he knows better than everyone else, and if people disagree with him – even if it’s a majority – they’re wrong?”

“If the majority disagreed with him, he would not be in control.”

“He _isn’t_.”

“He will be.” Mitaka smiles, thin and empty. Droid-like. No. Worse.

“The Republic has its flaws, but at least it doesn’t discriminate against species, and it _tries_ to do what’s best for the greatest number of people. This? This Order? You can’t even let people believe in your aims, you have to shove it into their skulls with brute force.”

“You have merely watched instructive videos, which are designed to help you understand.”

“You’ve locked me in a room, stopped me from eating and drinking without listening to your propaganda. You’ve ignored my requests, and you think you’re being humane?”

“We are attempting to guide you back home,” Mitaka says. “And we will continue to do so.”

“Indefinitely?” Hux wonders how long their patience will hold out. Surely if their goal is to get a loyal serf back, they’d want to invest what he’s worth. 

Unless he’s supposed to be used as a morale boost. To show the First Order that anyone in the Republic and Resistance can be swayed. To be an insult to the ‘enemy’, stealing someone so…

Oh. So _important_. He’s Kylo Ren’s fiancé. He’s… he matters. It could be just that he’s dating someone who ‘matters’, but it also means he’s important to someone important. He’s important enough to _matter_ to Kylo. It’s a strange mix of pride and humility, and he smiles despite the situation. 

He matters. He matters because someone – several someones – think he does. They’ll care he’s gone. They’ll care a lot, and really… what matters more than people being in your corner? 

“You will come back to us.” Mitaka bows his head slightly, and leaves.

Hux doesn’t feel broken down, though. He feels anything but. He matters so much that even the Order wants him back. It’s not nice being a captive, but he can at least rest assured that his life means something. 

He’d prefer it meant something at home. His real home. With Kylo.

***

It gets harder to hold onto good memories when his days are spent with gruelling amounts of ‘educational’ videos that don’t stop playing. He can’t sleep until they let him, because the volume and lights get too much. He eats less and less every day, although somehow he doesn’t fade to nothingness. They keep him just on the cusp of starvation, so he can keep going.

Light all day, all night. The clock vanishes, and it’s only meals that distinguish ‘days’ and cycles. The length of those days might well be variable, though, because he has no way to corroborate or validate his guesses. 

Hux spends the daytime sections drowning in lies, and fights back when he’s ready to sleep by remembering holo watching on the couch. He imagines meals with the Organa-Solos. He holds conversations with Kylo in his head, his lover telling him he can make it through. 

It’s possible he’s starting to crack. It’s all he can do to fight back, because if he lets his mind slip back into the past, he’ll remember…

“ _I will show you what the Republic is for._ ”

Hux **yelps** , the familiar voice so real. He grabs for the pillow, and pulls it over his head against the intrusion of Brendol. _Of course they found his old conditioning records. Of course._ He pulls his knees up to his chest, under himself, a tiny ball that rocks backwards and forwards. 

Not him. Not him. Anything but him. He’d wanted so _badly_ to impress the man. In many respects, his run to the Republic had been running _from_ Brendol’s shadow. He’d run for spite, hadn’t he? That and a lingering sense that things weren’t right. He can’t hear his voice now, he can’t. He stuffs the pillow tighter around his head, rocking, rocking, rocking. 

***

Mitaka brings a chair for himself, and sits on it. Hux faces the wall and imagines Kylo is through the other side, facing him. His fingers trace the cool metal, and his toenails catch on the thin sheets when his feet move. 

“The Order is your family. It is in your blood.”

So is copper, and oxygen. Hux presses his forehead to the wall. 

“Your ‘friends’ have left you. You are one of us, and they know that.”

They would come for him if they knew where he was. Wouldn’t they? Or would Leia and Han and Luke just write him off, if Kylo is dead? He’s just one man. Just one man. They lose men all the time. They probably think he is dead.

“Would you like to see one of them?”

Hux goes rigor-stiff. His lips are cracked from lack of water, his voice croaky from disuse. “Who?”

Mitaka waits until he turns, and then gestures at the wall.

Hux stares at the projected image, not understanding at first. Someone clad all in black, fighting – training - with a second person. After a moment, he catches enough to understand that one of them is Ithon Ren, judging by the outfit. The person he is sparring with is shorter, and slimmer. Not the Knight from the bar, though.

Not Kylo, either.

His eyes are grimy, and he just wants to sleep. Properly sleep, and wake feeling refreshed. He’s going stir crazy from this small room, and it’s not going to be much longer before he loses all grip on reality. There’s only so long you can meaningfully resist. This isn’t a life, and without the hope of rescue or escape… his morale is fading with his sanity.

Hux is about to turn back over and ignore the screen when the two sparring finish. He watches as the shorter person removes their mask, and his heart stops.

It’s Rey.

They have Rey. They _broke_ Rey.

It can’t be real, it can’t. He collapses mid-way to the wall, trying to get closer so he can assess the image for proof of fakery, but the screen cuts back to the logo as he gets closer.

“You said you didn’t know,” he growls, past the meteor in his throat.

“I didn’t,” Mitaka replies. “This was the first news I had.”

“When?”

“She came to the facility with you, but she was training with the Knights of Ren.”

“Training? You mean they _tortured her_.”

“No, they freed her from the oppression of the Jedi.”

“Do you _know_ what they do to the Knights?” Hux whirls on him, then, exhausted indignation flaring through him, giving him strength again. “Do you?”

“You wanted to know where your ‘friends’ were. Now I’ve shown you. She’s here, and she believes.”

“Because you tortured her! He _tortures_ people. He gets inside their heads, and he warps them! He hurts them, until they give in. He hurts them…”

“Who told you this?”

“Who do you think?” He wants to hit him so very badly, to split that lip or nose. To feel blood. Hux wavers on his feet, half way between rage and nothing whatsoever.

“And how do you know he told you the truth?”

“Because I’m in fucking love with him, you asshole.”

“Which would make you blind to his lies.”

“ _I can see through people just as well as he can_.”

Mitaka does not move. Hux wants to rip the hair from his scalp; wants to scream into his ear until he understands. He is so powerless that anything would be better than this. Hux launches forwards, but he’s barely got his hands on the man before the door opens and two troopers rush in. 

They don’t shoot, so he lands a punch to Mitaka’s jaw. It connects with a satisfying _thunk_ , and he’s clawing his fingers over his face before hands grab around his elbows and lift him up and off. “They _tortured him_ ,” Hux screams. “I saw it! I saw it! Just like you’re torturing me, but _worse_. You might as well fucking kill me _right now_ because I will _never believe your lies_.”

The troopers cuff his wrists behind him, and Hux screams in pain as his head is yanked back by his hair. He tries to windmill his legs, but he’s shoved down onto his knees and a stomp on the back of his calf has him blinded with pain.

“We’ve tried the polite approach,” Mitaka says, his hand swiping blood from a deep gouge to one cheek, looking at it in distaste. “Out of respect for your father. If you insist on your insane ideals, then we will have no choice but to execute you.”

Hux doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to live like this, but he also doesn’t want to die. 

He’s not sure if he can live knowing Rey is going through what Kylo went through. She’s older, but it doesn’t really make it any more acceptable. She’s going through this because they dragged her into the fight. Sure, her life on Jakku had been pretty shitty, but at least she hadn’t been tortured. 

Hux is sure they did it to her. She wouldn’t turn otherwise. She was a good kid – better than he could ever be – that kind of innocent good he’d never known, and likely Kylo hadn’t, either. She was _good_. And she did not deserve this. She did not, and he can’t cope with thinking of her suffering. He squirms as he’s held in place, his mind alternately trying to face up to, and then running away from the reality of his situation.

 _They’re going to kill him_. He’s going to die.

And Rey is under their control.


	49. Chapter 49

The troopers leave him face-down on the bed, his wrists still in the binders. Hux waits for them to leave before he rolls over, but only onto his side. It’s too uncomfortable to lie face-down, or on his back. He wriggles his fingers to make sure there’s circulation (and to see if there’s any wriggling _out_ of them) and then he pushes his head into the wall again.

He can’t fake he’s come around to their point of view. He _can’t_. Whilst he can understand why people would fall into line, he also just isn’t capable of believing their bullshit any more. There’s no Human supremacy – sentient life is all as important as each other – and the dangerous rule of one has no counter-balance to check murderous or selfish intent. 

Watching the holos, his beliefs are just reinforced. He can see the appeal of falling into step, of following commands. Without the ability to make decisions, you were freed from the worry of making a bad one. You didn’t need to evaluate or re-evaluate your actions, you just did as you were ordered. Nothing could be ‘wrong’ because it was someone else’s decision, and it was a command. You were liberated from doubt, and you could exist without fear.

Yes, there’s an appeal to that, to the mindless existence. There’s a peace that comes from surrender, but Hux has never been one for peace, or surrender. His mind works too much, somewhere on that cusp they wanted their officers at. Enough sense to make command decisions, but still kowtow to the Leader.

He’d been too much of an individual thinker to buy into the bullshit. Distance had led him to forget just how bad this all was, but now he’s faced with it again… there’s no denying it. 

Without lying, he’s got the option to string them on that he might be swayed, or just… let them kill him. 

He pulls his knees up, trying to make himself smaller. Poor Rey. He’s surprised in a way that she’s given up already, but then he doesn’t know the extent that Snoke has been inside of her head. Whatever has happened isn’t impossible to fix, but it should never have happened to begin with. His heels touch his ass, and he wonders if she can hear him? 

_Rey. Rey. Rey._

Do Force-sensitives pick up on their name being thought? Is she even strong enough?

Is his own head free from Snoke?

_Rey. Rey. Rey._

He thinks her name as a mantra, until he falls asleep.

***

He’s dreaming. He’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. Hux feels himself ‘wake’, and rise from the cot. When he looks down, he can see his body on the narrow frame. His shoulders hunch, his body occasionally shivering in the slight chill of the room, which he currently can’t feel.

His current ‘body’ isn’t tied up, and he doesn’t feel any discomfort at all.

It’s odd. Very odd. 

“Rey?” he calls out.

“Why do you use that name?”

He turns, and sees her. 

Or… it almost looks like her. The sandy colours and soft, pastel shades she used to wear have been substituted with dark blacks and charcoal greys. A hood lifted over her head casts her face into shadow, but she’s unmasked. 

“Because that’s who you are.”

“It isn’t, though. It was a name I picked up. It didn’t really mean _me_.”

“It was the name you gave others to use for you,” Hux says. “It’s who you were, and who you can still be.” 

He wouldn’t suggest it to Kylo. Kylo had left Ben behind for many years, and the pain at reminding him of his childhood had been so deep as to be cruel. Ben had been long since buried, but Rey has barely begun her time here.

“It is not who I am.”

“Then who are you? Who are you… inside? I don’t mean your name, I mean… _you_.”

Rey stares at him, and her face is strangely devoid of any emotion. Anything. It’s like she’s sleep-walking, or… half dead. There’s no softness or hardness, and reading her is almost impossible. He’s seen faces like this before, but not often.

It’s normally when the person is in shock, or when the emotional element has overwhelmed them. A protective mechanism, when pain would be too overpowering. Although it removes the micro-expressions and tells in voice, lips and eyes… it tells another story in its place. It tells him that she’s skirting over deep feelings, too deep for her to process. 

She’s protecting herself.

“I am learning that,” Rey says.

“What has he promised you?”

Eyes that go distant, and then snap back to now. “Power. Knowledge.”

“You can find that with Kylo and Luke.”

“They are not strong enough to defeat him, and you know that,” she says. “He can give me my full potential.”

“Like he did with Kylo? It’s in his best interests to keep you from excelling too much, so you always need him, and he can always control you.”

Her lashes flutter, her nose wrinkling just slightly. “They cannot win. It is simple.” Even her speech is stilted, emotionless. Or almost emotionless. 

“Even if they can’t, they have to try. We _all_ have to try, Rey. We have to fight for what’s right, even if we don’t win.” Like now, when he’s arguing the finer points of the Force with a Jedi who isn’t fettered at all.

It had been one thing with a Force-suppressed Kylo, but this is dangerous. His only advantages here are that he’s done it before, and that he already _knows_ her. 

“But the Darkness… it is in me,” she says, and emotion trickles into her tone for the first time. Pleading with him for help. 

“It’s in everyone, Rey. Me, you, Kylo, Luke.”

“I can control this,” she says, and Hux watches as she lifts his sleeping body from the cot without ever lifting a hand. “I have such power. Such power.”

“You can do that with Kylo, with Luke,” he reminds her. “You can do it without feeling anger, or feeling bad, or afraid.”

His body is thrown across the room, but he doesn’t feel any pain. It doesn’t react, even when he’s lifted seemingly by the throat, legs hanging limp below as his face changes colour. 

“Rey… you have a home, remember? You have a family. With me, with us. Do you remember meditating on the ship? Emotion, but part of the universe. Do you remember?”

His body is clearly dying, and yet he feels so distant from it. A mercy from her, or something deeper, he’s not sure. He doesn’t want to die, but he’s prepared, at last. He’s ready to go out fighting. He won’t beg for his life, he’ll fight for it.

“You don’t understand.” 

A sad smile. “I understand more than you think. I was born here, raised here. I was born to do what they ordered, but I learned to think for myself. I had a _choice_. We all have a choice. It’s not an easy one, but you can still make it.”

“He is too powerful.” Fear shows on her face, then. “When I try to fight. I can’t…”

Hux walks over to her, and reaches out. He’s not sure if he can touch her or not in this dream, but he tries and his fingers stroke fabric. “Call for them. Call for Kylo, and for Luke. They will come to help us.”

“He’ll know I did it. He might kill us.”

“Do you want to go down fighting, or do you want to break?”

Hux can see benefits to both, knowing there’s a way back from being broken. But Snoke has to die, and they have to know he’s dead. One way or another… it has to happen. 

“Call for them,” he says, again. “And bring Snoke, too. This has to end.”

“I’m sorry.” Her face pales, and the image flickers, fading. “I’m so sorry, Hux.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” he says. “Remember who you really are.”

***

He comes back to the world with a start, the press to his throat and larynx giving way and the world greeting his knees with an equal force to his own weight. Every breath in tastes like salted, cured meat and his chest prickles with sparks of light as he gulps it back down. It _hurts_ to inhale, to swallow down the air, but he has to do it. His head is dizzy from oxygen starvation, and the world is flooding with noises. 

Alarms. Those are the noises. Alarms. He coughs, and tries to put his feet below him, but he’s still too shaky from the manhandling that he can’t.

Has Rey called for them, or has his mental treachery caused this? Or something else, entirely?

Hux leans into the wall, wondering if they’ll come to his cell or not. Will they just go to her?

 _Rey… stay strong. You can do this. I believe in you._  

Would Kylo have managed it? In her place? Would he – as an adult – have held out? Or be able to turn away from it?

They’d just torture Hux in front of him. Yes. They would. They’d torture Hux until Kylo did anything they asked of him. He realises that as the door opens, and two troopers come in with a shock stick. He’s ready for it, when it lands against his sternum, all at once.

***

It’s getting really old, waking up in ever-more-unpleasant circumstances. Hux has been placed on his knees, his hands still behind his back. There’s a long staff or something rod-like and rigid pressed against his back, keeping him from falling over. He looks up and sees six – no – seven. Seven figures in black, though one of them has her face bare, and the others are masked.

Rey, in the middle of three Knights of Ren flanking each side. Hux makes eye-contact, but he can’t really ask what’s going on. He glances up and sees a high-vaulted ceiling, and then he realises Rey is flickering her eyes to behind him.

Where. _Shit._

“Your father would be so disappointed in you.”

The voice is sonorous and old, sinister and unforgiving. Hux has never heard it before, not really. It’s still as clear to him as it is possible to be that this… is the Supreme Leader. Snoke. 

He’s behind him, and Hux can’t turn to look.

“I’m glad,” he says, trying to kneel more upright, more proud. “He was an indoctrinated, xenophobic asshole who bullied people into obeying him. He was also a terrible father.”

Is that the first time he’s said as such out loud? Not just implied it? Maybe. It’s actually a relief to voice it, to overtly acknowledge the abuse he went through. He laughs, and then there’s pain in his body.

Pain like he can’t remember, and he bucks, unable to control his body through the rictus that starts in his molars, up into his jaw, through his whole spine and down to his toenails. Every hair seems to pull away, making a bid for freedom from his body. Every molecule of water inside of him threatens to boil. He’s cooking from the inside out, and he can’t even scream at him to beg for it to stop.

“Supreme Leader, please don’t!”

Rey’s voice. It sounds so pained, as if she’s the one being tortured, and not him.

For a moment, the anguish stops. Hux is left panting and empty, sure he’s broken every bone in his body. It feels like it, or how he imagines it would feel. Sweat drips down from his brow, and he’s fairly certain he’d have pissed himself if he’d had any liquid left in his bladder _to_ piss out. He looks up and shakes his head at her.

“It’s—“

The pain starts again at his attempt to speak, and he vaguely sees Rey start forwards.

She’s grabbed by two Knights, who pull her back. 

_Rey. It’s okay. Don’t worry about me_. He thinks it as loudly as he can, through the pain. They might all hear him, but he doesn’t care. _Just survive. Survive, Rey_.

She has no blade, but she still rushes for the one to her right. Hux watches in distress as she’s sent flying by a lift of a hand. He sees the fingers extend over his shoulder: grey, shrivelled, angry. He watches as she’s pinned into place, arms and legs splayed wide. 

It means his pain stops, but judging by her screams… he’s hitting her, instead.

“Why are you doing this?” Hux asks, craning his neck up and around to see a man who looks older than the Hutt race. 

“To show Kylo Ren the power he has turned away from.”

“He’s stronger without you.”

“Is he? One Jedi and his Apprentice, against my Knights?”

Two Apprentices. He’s lost count already. “He’ll kill you,” Hux snaps. “He’ll kill you. All of you.” He doesn’t want to hurt any more, but he also knows that Rey needs all the strength she can keep if she’s going to be any use in the fight. 

Snoke won’t kill him, not if he wants to torment Kylo. It will hurt, but it won’t be the end of him. He tries to rise, but his body is suddenly frozen stock-still. His mouth and tongue won’t move, and only air comes and goes from his mouth and lungs. 

Snoke knows what he’s trying to do.

 _I’m sorry, Rey. I tried_.

He hopes Kylo and Luke come soon. He can’t stand those screams for much longer.


	50. Chapter 50

Hux tries to broadcast what love and comfort he can, praise and appreciation and affection. He knows how she is feeling, but there’s precious little else he can do. He’s a mundane in a world of – quite literally – eight Force-sensitives around him. He can’t even stand up, or control his own body. Not around them.

His only saving grace is his relationship with those around him. That and the fact he’s a stubborn asshole who refuses to give in to their abuse.

Hux tries to radiate calm out for her, thinking back to what helped him before. The cake.

Baking the cake. 

Reading the recipe behind closed eyes, his attention lingering on the swoops, swirls and sticks of the letters and numbers. Measuring out the ingredients. Lining everything up.

The feel of the batter, mixing in the bowl. The light dust of flour everywhere. Sneezy white and almost like snow. Eggs. Beat. Beat. Beat. He thinks it as loudly as he can, the memory distant but still there. (His mother?) The oven is warm when he puts the mixture in, and he sits to watch through the darkened transparisteel. His fingers smudge over the surface, and he pulls back to lick the spoon. Bubbles rise as the cake bakes—

 _I’ve never had a cake_.

He hears her voice, aching and broken, inside his head. It’s helping, so he smiles. _I will bake you one_.

This poor child. Why does this fight hurt them so much? Why do children always suffer?

He runs through the baking, and pulls the tin out. He watches it cool, seeing the air ripple over the surface. He wants to decorate it, but it’s not ready, not yet. 

Distantly, he can hear Snoke talking. Hear laughter, and it isn’t nice. He needs to escape from there, from the moment. He has to exist in a place that’s happier, that can survive the pain. His finger pushes into the sponge, and he decides it’s ready.

 _It hurts_.

 _I know_ , he tells her. _They’re coming. You called for them. Stay with me, stay here. Pain isn’t the strongest thing you can feel._

It’s pretty damn strong, though. Aware this ridiculous fantasy might be keeping her from going insane, he throws himself deeper into the details. Squeeze out the frosting, swirl it with a flat knife around and around. Feel the way it squishes underneath, watch the viscous drag of it. Around and around, and the pain is a smell in his eyeballs. Around and around. His wrist only goes so far and he has to lift the knife, and start again. 

The sound of electric light, and his eyes open to see green and red. Tree-grow, and blood-flow. Two men hold the sabers, but they’re hidden by a wall of black Knights. 

“Snoke,” calls a voice. Luke. 

Hux’s decoration wavers, but the pain is acid in his sinuses the moment he stops.

“You want to kill me?” The old Jedi asks. “Why don’t you try.”

“Why would I try, when I have my Knights to do it for me?”

“ **COWARD**.” That’s Kylo’s voice. “You won’t even fight your own fights!”

“You could never be a true Master,” Snoke taunts, his voice full of ugly amusement. “You don’t understand that winning – at all costs – is the only good. There’s no such thing as bravery, kindness, peace. There is only struggle, control, victory.”

Kylo sends three of the Knights flying, storming straight forwards and—

His momentum checks when their eyes meet. Hux begs him not to, but the pause is enough for Snoke to hurl him to the wall, too. Kylo snarls, slashing through the air and fighting the pressure on his chest.

_Kylo. Kylo. You can’t beat him with just the Dark._

Snoke knows the Dark like no one else in the room does. Hux doesn’t know for certain, but he’s almost convinced the way to do this is to find that balance. 

_Get Rey. You need her._

“See,” Snoke taunts. “You’re weak. Your Light always held you back. You were always too weak.”

“The Light is what keeps me strong,” Kylo snarls. “And gives me a reason to keep going. There is no point in winning if you’re alone with your victory.”

“And yet, I’ll still win.” Snoke gestures, and the six Knights light their blades as one.

Luke waves his good hand, and they skitter backwards through the room. The two pinned to the walls drop to their feet, and Hux feels a surge of hope all at once. Three against seven is terrible odds, especially with one captive to use as collateral, too. But three against seven is better than one, or even two. 

Rey doesn’t have her saber, but Hux watches as she brings objects raining from the edges of the room. Kylo’s attacks are savage and bold: sweeping gestures filled with brute force. Luke’s fighting style is much more sparse and guarded, his motion kept to a minimum, using the momentum and energy of his attackers against them. 

Snoke watches with almost disinterest, and if Hux could move…

 _Kylo_ … _cover me_.

He takes the opportunity to scrabble his feet below him, even as Kylo throws a pulse of energy into Snoke to keep his focus split. Hux throws himself up onto his feet and backwards, crashing into Snoke and using his fingers behind his back to unhook the saber at his belt.

Snoke hurls him sideways into the wall, his head cracking into the surface. Hux is still clutching the stolen saber hilt, and he looks up at a face full of anger and disgust.

Teach you to discount the non Force-sensitives, Hux thinks. He smiles past a mouth full of blood, and opens his hands.

Behind him, Rey calls the saber to herself, and she joins in the fray with Luke and Kylo.

Hux can’t look to see how they’re doing, though, because a massive hand picks him up like he’s a rag doll, and Snoke has to be at least ten feet tall. Twenty. He isn’t sure, because his vision is going double and blurry with it, and he just wants to hold the man’s attention for long enough that the others can kill him.

“You will die, and he will watch,” Snoke says, and the hand around his chest (real? Force?) starts to crush at his ribs. 

He’s fighting the panic of how easily he’s going to die when he hears a scream.

Both of them turn to see Kylo dispatch two Knights on his saber. He spears through the first and into the second, leaving Luke and Rey with two each. The shock allows them to dispatch the closest to each of them, and then there’s only two left.

Snoke turns Hux out to face them, beaten and bloodied and with no fight left in him. He wishes he could smile, but he just wants to know for sure that Snoke is dead. Everything else is immaterial, now. Just that. Only that. 

“Put. My Hux. Down.” Kylo advances towards him, blade humming in his hand. 

Hux is sure two ribs just broke, and he feels more blood in his mouth. _Don’t stop for me._

(Please save me.)

Kylo’s rage is pure and complete. It’s the kind of anger that changes the air pressure, that makes everyone notice it. 

Snoke lifts a hand and a saber flies to it, and Hux is sure it’s gone through him. He is. He’s sure he’ll look down and see it, but what he sees instead is Kylo’s shoulder. 

It takes a moment for him to process things to realise his fiancé has caught the blade in his cross-guard, and is stopping it from skewering him open. Hux is pinned between the purest evil and Kylo, and if he moves, he’s afraid he’ll end up dead. 

“Fight me,” Kylo growls. “Prove you’re stronger. We’ve killed four of your Knights. Now it’s a fair fight.”

“Fair isn’t important. _Winning_ is important. A lesson you will never learn.”

“ _Then teach me_ ,” Kylo says, and Hux hears the _down_ in his head.

Hux goes down, and Kylo surges forwards with everything he has. Hux can only roll and crawl to one side, desperately trying to get out of the cross-fire. 

Luke has taken the next Knight down, leaving him with one who cowers and throws down their hilt. 

Rey runs at Snoke, next, leaping over his head and swiping out at him. He grabs a second blade, and blocks her above whilst turning to smack at Kylo’s lunges. Hux’s breath stops at the brutal beauty of it: Kylo with his rage and passion, Rey with her sweeping elegance. 

The non-Force-user crawls to a forgotten lightsaber, his hand closing around the hilt in one last-ditch effort to defend himself. It isn’t really useful, but the weight of it is reassuring as he wheezes past the pain. 

_Remember what you’re fighting for_ , he thinks. He’s not sure if he’s helping, but he wants to. 

Cakes. Holos. Family meals. Trips to Coruscant. Cuddles. Kisses. He holds onto those things for himself, wanting his mind full of happiness to over-write all the darkness of the past weeks on end of horror. 

Snoke whirls an arm through the air, and everything that isn’t bolted down starts to swirl in a vortex, Hux included. He clutches onto the saber, panicking, closing his eyes to the whirl and the bodies smacking into him. He doesn’t know why Snoke thinks it will help, and he can’t see anything of the fight, now.

Not until there’s a flash from below that makes his eyes open.

Everything goes still, and he sees Snoke holding a saber up against the twin onslaught of Luke and Rey’s blades. 

Kylo’s left hand flicks, and both of Snoke’s sabers cut out, and drop from his hands. 

The Jedi stand poised, but it’s Kylo who faces him down.

“I am a Jedi, like my grandfather before me,” Kylo tells him. “But I can be a Sith like he could, too.”

From out of nowhere, white-blue bolts arc out from Kylo’s left hand fingertips. He slams in the arcs, his face glowing behind the energy. 

Hux watches in rapt wonder. He’s never seen Kylo do this before, and by the look on Snoke’s face, neither has he. 

Snoke’s old face turns into a smile. “Both sides of the Force. You’ve learned the Dark at last. I told you I would teach you.”

He doesn’t sound pained, but it’s there around his eyes. A mask around the agony, barely holding together.

“You didn’t teach me, my family did.”

The lightning flares, bright and explosive around him. Snoke staggers, and Hux finds himself falling… to be caught in the air. His head whips around to see Rey’s hands out in a gesture to catch him, and he smiles as he’s lowered. 

“I am your family,” Snoke spits. “Your Master. I am your Master.”

“He’s _my_ Master,” Rey corrects him. 

More lightning, crackling out. Hux watches as Kylo runs along behind it, consuming it into his hand as he bounds up and sinks his saber through the old man’s heart.

For a moment, nothing moves. The second goes so slowly through the adrenaline focus, and then it topples as Snoke does. He collapses down into a heap as Kylo’s blade goes through and through. Kylo’s momentum makes him follow, the parabola curtailed and his saber sinking through the ground as he pins Snoke’s corpse down like a broken butterfly.

Kylo lands on one knee and foot, his left arm out for balance. There’s no lightning now, and his saber cuts out with a snick.

Hux can barely believe it.

Five Knights – one still cowering – and Snoke. All dead. Kylo killed Snoke.

And he’s pretty sure he’s about to die from internal bleeding, but it barely matters. He croaks something out, and his fiancé runs over to him, ignoring the dead man on the floor.

“You’re okay,” Kylo whispers, his arms going to pluck him from the air.

“…relative… term,” Hux admits.

“Luke…?” Kylo asks, without turning his head.

“Get him to the ship,” Luke says. “We’ll sort this out. He needs medical treatment.”

Hux clutches at Kylo’s shirt, breathing in his smell, and lets the warmth of his arms lull him out of the world. Snoke is dead. It’s all over. It’s _all over_. Kylo is free.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end, but it is the beginning of the end.
> 
> There will be a few days perhaps and then I'll update again.
> 
> Sorry for the spam, but I figured such cliffhangers were not meant to last for long.

For once, he wakes up and he isn’t in some ridiculous stress-position. He’s lying on a cot, covered in a fuzzy blanket, and his hand is being held. Which is odd. Hux stirs slightly, turns his head, and sees Kylo is sitting on the floor beside the small bunk he’s hunkered into. His boyfriend’s head whips around when his eyes open, the hands on his own squeezing.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Hux manages.

“You need to stop getting captured,” Kylo jokes, weakly. He looks drained, and Hux struggles to touch his gaunt cheek. 

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

“Kind of hard to want to eat and sleep when you’re not there.” Kylo shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Got you back, now.”

Hux lets his hand fall back down, smiling at the heat placed gently over it. “How badly was everyone hurt?”

“You have cracked ribs, some deep tissue bruising, dehydration and exhaustion. Nothing that will kill you, or permanently damage you, but you’re going to need to rest for some time.”

“…Rey? You? Luke?”

“Rey’s wounds seem to have healed well from when you were both captured. She’s scarred, but it is only superficial. Bumps and bruises for all of us. She’s… sore from what Snoke did, though. Like you must be.”

“She took most of his torture,” Hux says, his lips curving down. “Probably because she has the Force.”

“She says you brought her back.” Kylo gulps down tears, visibly. “She said you helped her. Reached out to her.”

“I couldn’t do it for you,” Hux says, suddenly overcome with grief. From nowhere, it rises like an impossible wave. “I had to help her, at least. I – I’m so sorry, Kylo. If that was a fraction of what you went through, I’m so sorry.”

Brown eyes that ache like he’s been beaten for months in Hux’s place, a lip that struggles not to wobble in worry. “Can I hug you? If I’m really careful?” 

He sounds so distraught, and Hux wants nothing more, really. He’s fantasised about those arms for long, lonely nights. Not even sexualised, just… the comfort, the closeness.

“You think maybe you could hold me from behind?” he asks, alarmed by how tiny his voice sounds to his ears.

Kylo nods, and scrambles up and over him. He’s very careful not to injure him, and Hux feels himself lifted very gently with the Force, before being dropped back down into Kylo’s embrace. Their legs twine together, and Kylo’s arms rest low on his waist to avoid the bruised and bandaged ribs. 

It’s been so long. So very long. The heat against his skin, the smell of his hair… quite despite himself, Hux starts to cry.

“You saved her,” Kylo whispers at his neck, kissing him very softly. “You saved her. You saved her, and you saved me.”

“I didn’t do enough,” Hux blubs. “I didn’t…”

“You didn’t even know me when I was Ben.” Kylo’s hands turn, and Hux puts his own inside of them. They dwarf them, or so he feels right now.

Hux feels tiny. Maybe the giant monster, or the image of him… but he feels so small and helpless, and he shouldn’t be crying when they won, but he is. “He hurt you.”

“He hurt you, too,” Kylo reminds him, his voice equally fragile, as if raising it might fracture the world. “And Rey. And lots of people. But he’s gone, because of you. You got through to Rey. You helped her.”

Now the dam wall is broken, and Hux can’t stop crying. Weeks and weeks of bullshit lies, not knowing if he’d ever escape, not knowing if Kylo was alive or not. Weeks and weeks of his whole life and agency stripped from him, his very ability to even feed and clean himself… despair he’d kept walled up and away so they didn’t see they got to him… it crashes out in howls. Howls that hurt his ruptured body, but howls that need to come out.

Kylo holds and kisses him, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, and it is not until he blinks his tear-drenched eyes and blows his snotty nose into the handkerchief Kylo’s provided… that he sees Rey in the doorway. 

She looks pained, too. 

For a minute, Hux feels awful for letting her hear him, for making her own mood worse. But then he sees her looking at her feet, and he knows.

 _She can come over_ , he thinks to Kylo. _If she wants to_.

Kylo nods, and holds his arm out. Rey hesitates for a long moment, and then she climbs onto the very edge of the cot. It’s not made for three people, even if Hux is lying flat out on Kylo’s chest. Rey barely fits in, and she huddles under Kylo’s arm, plastering herself to their sides. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tucked under Kylo’s chin.

“I should have saved you,” Rey says. “I shouldn’t have let them—“

Kylo clucks at them both, a hand on either head. “You saved each other, remember? Hux, you called to Rey. Rey, you called to us.”

“And you came running,” Hux points out. “So if anything, it was a team effort.”

Rey shudders, and Hux turns his face to touch his forehead to hers. Just a little gesture of comfort. He feels her tension slowly eke out, and he smiles. 

“Is it… is it wrong to feel upset, now we won?” she asks, her voice shaking on the question.

“No.” Kylo’s sure about that. “You can be happy you won, and sad about being hurt. You don’t have to stop feeling upset because he’s gone. You just start feeling safer.”

Hux hears footsteps, and looks up to see the great and glorious Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. He blushes at being found in a cuddle pile with his fiancé and their friend, but he also knows Luke’s seen this kind of thing before. Probably worse.

“I’ll give you warning when we’re nearly at D’Qar,” Luke says, with a fond and bittersweet smile. “I’m sorry it took us so long to find you two. I’m so very sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hux says. “We… we know we can get through this. Kylo already showed us that.”

They might be different, forever, but he still loves Kylo. No matter what happened to him before, Hux loves him. And no matter what happened to Kylo, Kylo can still be this glorious, somewhat fucked-up, but mostly good mess of a man. 

Luke quietly heads back to the cockpit, then, allowing them the space they need to grieve. Rey tries to leave, but Hux grabs for her. 

“You don’t have to go,” he whispers.

“I know. But I’m okay.” She smiles, from way too close to his nose. Bumps heads again. “I want to talk to Luke. I’m not running away.”

Oh, okay then. He nods, and lets her go. If it’s what she needs, he understands.

Kylo’s body is warm and relaxing. Hux finds himself drifting, now the crying has lifted the storm inside. He feels the whisps of care against his mind and he follows them into sleep.

***

When they get back to D’Qar, Hux has an arm around his waist to take his weight if he needs it. He walks pretty much glued to Kylo’s hip right until the first contingent of people see them.

The first person to attack him is Poe Dameron, surprisingly enough. The Commander runs forwards, grabs hold of his hair, and pulls it down to scrub at his scalp. Hux is utterly baffled, and the laugh that erupts at the manhandling is genuine.

“You… you had us all worried, buddy,” Poe says. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, and thinks this means they’re really friends. 

Poe then realises he’s in the way, and abashedly steps to one side, mumbling a soft apology directed to his superior.

Said superior being General Leia Organa, his mother-in-law-to-be. She pulls Hux into a hug, then steps back when he hisses in pain.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Few cracked ribs,” he explains, and sees the horror on her face. “It’s just a twinge.”

“Kylo, why didn’t you stop me?”

“Have you ever tried stopping you, Mom?”

Behind her, Chewie roars with laughter and Han turns red. 

Leia rolls her eyes, and then touches his upper arm instead. “We’re all so happy to see you both back,” she insists, and then, more fiercely: “But you’re getting checked out in the med bay now.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he quips. 

Chewie roars again, and Hux catches enough to reply. “You can hug me all you want when I’m better.”

That makes the Wookie holler in appreciation for his understanding, and then Hux is being manhandled onto a gurney even though he doesn’t need one. He sees Rey being equally smothered in affection, and then he’s being wheeled away to be prodded at. 

Kylo won’t let go of his hand, and he’s happy with that. He doesn’t want to lose sight of him for some considerable time.

***

Some days later, Hux hears the doorbell go _again_. Kylo yells an ‘I’ll get it!’ before he can get up, but Hux is damned if he’s going to be an invalid forever. The Jedi-Sith Master of indeterminate Clarity is in the kitchen, and Hux is faster than his boyfriend thinks.

Which is why he opens the door and finds Rey.

Rey, who is holding out a small box, about the size of a dinner plate. Round. Semi-circular. 

“…hello, Rey.”

“I brought you a gift,” she says.

“Damnit, Hux!” Kylo storms behind him. “You were supposed to say sitting down for your surprise.”

“Huh?”

Rey grins. “Can I show him?”

“…okay, she has to show me now,” Hux insists.

“Sit down on the couch,” Kylo orders. “Right now. Close your eyes.”

“Aww, Kylo…” Rey wheedles.

“Do it.”

Hux walks back to the couch, closing his eyes. He then puts his hands over his eyes and peeks through the fingers, because he isn’t in the mood to wait. Whatever the surprise is, it takes a few moments to be ready. Then there’s a giggle from Rey, and when they come back in he can’t wait any longer, and he drops his hands.

Only to see Rey carrying a round, silver tray with a small cake on top of it. The frosting is chocolate with red, blue and green speckles all over it, and three fizzingly bright candles burn on top.

“Cheater,” Kylo grumbles.

“I waited,” Hux replies, feeling a little giddy. “Did you bake it yourself?”

“Kylo helped. And then we had to ask for Threepio anyway, because neither of us are good with cakes,” she replies. 

“Threepio wasn’t much better,” Kylo complains.

Rey puts the cake down on the coffee table, and he waits for the nod to blow out the candles.

In sloppy writing, over the top, it says ‘Congratulations’. He’s not sure what it’s congratulations _for_ , as it could be ‘on your engagement’, or ‘on surviving a Dark Lord’, or ‘for not going mad’. Any which way, Kylo has a knife ready to carve them all a slice, and Hux feels everything sort of… clicking happily into place. 

“It’s beautiful,” he says. “And I’m sure it will taste even better than it looks.” 

Rey’s face is just pure, unadulterated joy. The kind of happiness that makes your chest ache, and reminds you there’s still so much hope out there, even for someone as jaded as he is. He did that, in part. He kept her sane, and happy. Even with cake recipes. Maybe he didn’t get to keep that innocence for Kylo, but they both gave her a chance they never had for themselves. And that’s precious.

Hux is five forkfuls in when he asks: “So… Poe?”

“Poe what?” Rey looks – ah – po-faced over her portion.

“He’s a nice guy. And he really seems to like you.”

Rey slaps his knee. “No!”

Kylo snickers. “I don’t need to read his mind to tell you it’s true.”

“He’s just nice!” Rey insists. “He’s nice with everyone.”

“He is, but he likes you _more_ ,” Hux points out. “You should take him a slice of cake.”

“…you really think he’d like it?”

“This is the best cake I ever had,” Hux says, and means it. 

Kylo leans to kiss his temple. _I love you, you know_.

Hux swipes frosting onto Kylo’s nose, and then licks it off. “I know.” He beams up at him, then steals a quick kiss. “I love you too.” 

Rey just beams at them. Even if she doesn’t hit it off with Poe, Hux will make sure whoever she does take an interest in is good enough for her. After all, that’s what big brothers do.  

“So when are you getting married?” she pushes. “Because I want to make the cake.”

Hux laughs. “We haven’t set a date… maybe we should?”

“When Rey isn’t here. She’ll tell _everyone_ ,” Kylo complains.

“Because I’m happy for you!”

“Because you’re a terrible gossip,” Kylo corrects her. 

“Fine. But cake?”

“You can make the cake,” Hux agrees. It’s… real. Now. Isn’t it? Snoke is dead, and they get to be happy together. Forever. He leans against Kylo’s arm, and eats more cake.

It really is very good. 


	52. Chapter 52

Much later, when Rey has gone and the too-full feeling from gorging on cake has died down to just a pleasantly stuffed one, Hux turns his nose to rub along Kylo’s jaw. “She’s right, you know.”

“About which part in particular?”

“The wedding. If you’re still—“

A hand over his mouth, and Hux has to hold back from licking it.

“Of course I still want to marry you.”

Hux waits for the hand to move. “Well, we should plan it, then. I’d say I’d like a small affair, but you and I both know your mother would never stand for that.”

“Nor would Rey, I think,” Kylo says. “And I suspect they’re both going to want to help us plan.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“…if you are? I mean, I never once expected I’d even be… that I’d be anything but using the Force to fight. Forever. I didn’t have fantasies about weddings.”

“Me either. What… did you fantasise about?”

Kylo hugs him tighter. “Running away, mostly. Being… a smuggler, or… a runaway Jedi… having adventures, doing good things… no one yelling at me…”

Which is, in a sense, what he became after all. Hux squeezes at his hand. “We can give them some specific things to research and give us options, and we make the final decision? If they’re interested enough to interfere.”

Kylo actually laughs. “You think my mother would turn down that option? Maker, even Threepio will want to get involved. And it might be nice if we could ask Dad to do something with ships, and Chewie could organise some tree decorations… like on Kashyyyk?”

“So you have thought about it?”

“…a little. But not much. I was half convinced we’d both wind up dead long before.”

Hux has to repress a shudder, because he can understand that. They nearly have died several times between their engagement and now. “Let’s not wait too long, then. I want… to make that promise openly. I want to _be_ yours. For all we have left.”

“You’re sure? I mean, about the speed?”

“As fast as we can make it,” Hux nods. “Now… I’d very much like to take you to bed.”

***

Everything has changed, and nothing has changed. Hux climbs the stairs of their small home towards the bedroom, feeling giddy and elated. 

They’ve won. He’s home. They’re going to get married. He has a job to do: healing people. Kylo has his Apprentice, their adopted sister. It’s all going right for a change. 

(Don’t curse it. Don’t curse it.)

Up the stairs, and into their bedroom. He’s bouncing inside, and he knows he’s letting all of the emotions colour his face. He’s holding nothing back, because there’s nothing _to_ hide from Kylo. They’re together. All the way together. Past, present, future. 

And the past is dead, now. Dead in Brendol Hux, dead in the once-Leader Snoke. The ghosts who hung over them are fading, and they have a future, instead. Hux laughs, out of nowhere, and grabs hold of Kylo.

The man launches himself at his lover – his _fiancé_ – and grabs at his shoulders as his legs wrap around his waist. Hands find his lower back, his shoulders, and they roll onto the bed in a tangle of limbs that doesn’t hurt, even if it does. He grabs Kylo’s face, feeling for his cheekbones with his thumbs. A face he’d once been ashamed to own, and Hux kisses it all over. He kisses across his brow, down the line of his nose, over his stark cheeks, into the tiny dimple in his chin when he scrunches up his face, over the full lips from one side to another.

Kylo laughs, and Hux kisses the laugh. And again. He feels the hands go into his hair, and he submits to his head being tugged back in retaliation.

Tugged back, all so Kylo can kiss from his lips down to smother his throat in answering pecks and strokes. Hux beams and pushes his own hands into Kylo’s hair, just to hold on. Not to tug, or demand, just to touch. “I love you,” he whispers, as his collarbone is suckled lightly. “I really bloody do. I wish I could tell you how much I do.”

“You tell me every day,” Kylo insists, pulling back enough to stare down at him. “Tell me what you want. Tell me, and it’s yours.”

What does he want? Everything. Everything that is Kylo’s to give. He enjoys every single act they try together, because it’s more about their connection, their sharing, than it is about the act itself. Hux would die happy if he could only wank in the shower so long as he still got to hold, hug, and kiss Kylo. 

“Whatever you want,” he answers, honestly.

“I want to hear you,” Kylo replies. “I want to hear what you want from me.”

 _Everything. All of you. All of you._ “Very well… I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me until you come. I want to be sticky with you, and then I want to fuck you so hard you wish you could come again. Your seed dripping down my thighs whilst I bend your legs up and gaze into your eyes and ride your ass to my own release. And then I want to fall asleep, sticky, gross, and happy. Tangled up in you.”

A strangled note of appreciation, and he realises he’s said the right thing. 

“I love you so fucking much, you know,” Kylo says, diving for the lube. 

He seems to have forgotten they’re still dressed, so Hux props himself up and reaches for Kylo’s tunic, shimmying it up from his waist. He pulls away, admiring the stretch of pale skin as he tugs the cloth up and over. It musses his hair in the process, and is thrown off to hit the wall and slide down. Hux draws his fingertips over the sculpted torso in front of him, admiring every last knot of muscle and sinew. 

“You’re the most stunning, gorgeous, beautiful man I ever saw,” he says, meaning every word. 

Kylo flushes, and sits back on his haunches. Hux draws spidery-light touches over his shoulders, down to those biceps, feeling at the muscles. 

Hux’s smile grows fond. “All this time, and the whole galaxy couldn’t break you. Just… crack you a little.”

“With you as glue, nothing can break me,” Kylo says, capturing Hux’s hands and kissing every knuckle, one after the other. “You hold me together.”

“We hold each other together,” he corrects him. “I was… so alone before you came. I lived here out of spite for my father, but I let his poison keep me away from anyone. I… hated Poe, and Rey, when… back then. I hated them.”

Kylo looks infinitely patient, and understanding. Hux feels a slide of reassurance against his mind, and he smiles. 

“You don’t feel that, now?”

“No. I know they don’t want to take you from me. You were the only person who had ever… you were the only one I ever truly connected with, or who… _wanted_ to connect with **me**. I worried you’d want to leave me for someone better.”

“There is no one better, not for me. I love Poe, and I love Rey, but it’s a different kind of love.”

“I know that, now. Back then I’d… never… you were the first person I think I loved in any way. And… it took me a while to let myself love them, and your family, and realise you could love them in that other way, without stopping loving me?”

Kylo kisses his forehead, and Hux blushes at the touch. He’d been so deeply insecure, hadn’t he? Poe had just been _nice_ , and Hux had been looking for the ulterior motive. He’d been so convinced it was impossible for someone to genuinely just _care_ for others that he’d misread motivation that wasn’t even there. It seems foolish, now. 

“I could never stop loving you,” his Knight says. 

“I realise that, now. Sorry it took me so long.”

“I should have told you better.”

“Not sure I would have believed you,” Hux admits. He pushes his head to touch Kylo’s, and grabs for his hands. Guides them to his shirt, and then starts to comb through his hair with his fingers. Strokes through the locks, curling around his fingers, then scrunching to his scalp and down again. “But I do, now. I understand. You saved me from a life alone, as much as I saved you from _him_.”

Kylo tugs at his shirt, his warm hands moving underneath it. Hux lets himself be undressed by degrees, as he kisses the corner of Kylo’s mouth, over and over. He’s just filled with a swelling affection, one that the kisses abate only for a moment before he has to touch him again. He wants to laugh, to scream, to do _something_ to express how deeply he’s feeling. He wants everyone to know, everyone in the damn galaxy. He _loves_ him. He’s _complete_. This is everything he’s ever needed, right here. Home.

Off goes the shirt. Hux feels the hands go lower, to work his belt free from the buckle. Out, and his stomach bounces in anticipation. He moves to kneel upright, and drape his arms over Kylo’s broad expanse of shoulders. Kylo pulls his own pants off, then settles. Hux lifts one leg, then the other, as Kylo strips the last of his clothing from him. He shimmies them off, stays kneeling astride his lap, and then plasters himself to his chest: both of them naked as the day they were born. (But significantly more mature.)

“Like this,” he requests, steadying himself with a kiss to Kylo’s neck. “Open me like this.”

“As you wish,” Kylo purrs. He opens up the bottle, and Hux’s toes wrinkle in anticipation.

Lying chest-to-chest over him, feeling his heart, his breathing… he laces his hands together behind Kylo’s neck, and thumbs at the join of spine and skull. It’s somehow more intimate being fingered like this, wrapped so close to him. Kneeling upright together, breathing together. Between their bodies, their cocks are trapped close against the other. It only takes a wriggle to get them to lie together, and Hux gnaws gently on a shoulder to encourage him to speed up.

In goes the finger, and it’s bliss. He rocks up and down on it, trying to spread himself around the digit. It’s just a dull pleasure, the length, but the stretch to his hole is enticing. “Fuck me, love,” he murmurs, letting an endearment drip from his tongue.

Two fingers, and Kylo’s palm on his ass-cheek. Still snugly together, and Hux finds Kylo’s mouth to beg for kisses. Their lips meet, and Kylo’s tongue thrusts into his mouth in synch with his fingers, and Hux _melts_ at the double penetration, however mild and minor. It’s just so intimate and lovely, so absolutely them. He sucks on Kylo’s tongue, trying to urge him to push deeper, and there’s a tiny nip of teeth when the third finger goes in. 

Yes. So good. He’s swaying them both as he rides that hand, wanting much more than this angle will allow. He pulls away from the kiss enough to stare Kylo in the eyes.

 _Fuck me blind_.

He thinks it as loud as he can, and then he’s gratified when two hands grab his waist and lift him upwards. He reaches behind and below to the firm length of cock, holding it as he’s lowered down and onto it. Full, sure, and it splits him near in half to take it. The preparation is never a substitute for the feeling of Kylo’s dick skewering him open.

His hands tighten around Kylo’s neck, and the ones on his waist start to lift and lower him, using him like he’s a simple sex toy. The thought is a weird thrill all of its own, and he tightens his thighs and ass to give him a better fuck. 

“ _Hux_ , you… oh…”

Yep. Still got it. Hux pulses his hole around Kylo, giving him more fiction and sensation as he uses Hux’s body like it was made for nothing but. The bouncing, grinding sensation edging his arousal ever higher, bringing them ever closer. His chest glides over Kylo’s, and he sighs in absolute satisfaction.

“You feel wonderful,” Hux tells him, nosing at his ear. “So good. Fuck me full of you. I want you absolutely empty when I fill you with my come, instead.”

“Hgnfh.” Kylo spears him hard down onto his lap, and twists him to and fro. “Gonna come so hard.”

“If you don’t, I’ll be disappointed. Show me what you’ve got, Kylo. Show me what you’re capable of.”

Their eyes meet, and then Kylo nods. Hux holds on for dear life, prepared to be taken with extreme force. He hisses at the sudden ferocity of it, as Kylo rams him down repeatedly onto his lap, the cock inside him gutting him wider and wider open. His hole protests, but not so much he needs to stop, and Hux bites down on Kylo’s shoulder with all the strength in his jaw. Kylo’s movements are unforgiving and harsh, and he can feel the moment before he’s going to come. Feel it, in the tensing of his thighs, belly, chest, balls. It’s there, it’s close, it’s—

He pulls back, catching and holding his eyes. Kylo wavers, then slams him again, and Hux can feel the pulsing heat between his cheeks. It fills him up so deeply that he feels like his insides are spreading, and the twitches are delicious and hard in his ass.

For a moment, he simply revels in the feeling… then he pushes at Kylo until the man falls onto his back. Hux goes with him, leaving Kylo’s cock softening inside of him. It’s so delightfully intimate, feeling the aftermath, and he grabs for the discarded bottle of lube in the bed. He twists the lid, then squeezes a blob out. Still with Kylo’s dick inside, he reaches behind to nudge at his hole. It’s not easy, but he starts to open him up like this. There’s tiny twitches inside, through Kylo’s cock, as he massages his way inside, and rubs two fingers into his prostate gland. Kylo can’t get it up again this soon, but he knows it must feel amazing, all the same. 

“Hux…”

“Shh, love,” he says, and slips the third finger in. He’s stretching to his limit to do it, but he needs to make sure he’s ready.

“ _Please_.”

“Almost there.” He’s open enough, but it doesn’t hurt (much) to tease a little more. 

Spread as wide as Kylo’s body will allow, and then he pulls his hand free. Climbs up and off his cock, feeling the slither of it dropping down to his belly, and the trickle of come leaking out of his tender hole. He’s so hard, so very hard, and when he bends Kylo almost double to get up against his cheeks, it’s the most wonderful sight he remembers.

A pause, just to memorise this. The feel of his ass reamed open, his cock ramrod hard. His lover’s prick sticky with come and lube, his own hole waiting. 

Once it’s indelibly written in his mind, Hux thrusts up, and in. Sheathes himself to the balls, and squirms his way left and right inside. Kylo grabs for his hair, holding on and begging a broken litany of wanting as Hux refuses to fuck him. He just stays, locked, beaming so widely his face aches.

“Fuck me, please?” Kylo begs.

And who is Hux to refuse? He nods, and gets his weight sorted. Holds his thighs, and throws all he has into fucking him hard and deep. He can feel the seeping between his legs, and it just makes him go all the harder at it, reaming him as surely as he was just opened. 

It’s almost not even about his dick, or Kylo’s ass. It’s about something else. Or he’s just getting overly emotional because of the love, but really… Hux is so happy it nearly hurts. He bends through the rutting to kiss him, making Kylo’s body fold in half underneath him. Gaspy little kisses and he hears the low, wounded note of bliss as his strokes must hit that spot inside. He redoubles his efforts, feeling tremors of almost-climax rush through his beloved. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” Kylo trails, the words bleeding into one another. “Please, Hux, _please_.”

“You want me to come in you?” He’s not sure how he can still speak.

Nods, and wide eyes. 

“Make it good, then.”

He throws what little he has left into the rocking, and Kylo tightens around him just enough to bring him over, too. He spurts out inside of him, feeling his own body expel the last of their first coupling. He laughs, and spills, and pulls out so the gush of it from Kylo’s body meets the sticky mess from before. 

Kylo’s left panting for a moment, before his legs drop down in resignation. Hux tangles them in the tightest, most loving hug he can manage. He normally hates the damp patch even existing, but right now he revels in it, his legs and Kylo’s and a knot of their limbs as they roll to lie on their sides, bellies pressed together. His softening cock nestles with Kylo’s, and he’s just… blissfully tired. 

Happy. So happy. So sleepy. Kylo’s chin is under his, and their arms drape in affectionate curls. 

“Forever,” Hux whispers. “Forever.”

***

Next morning, while they’re having a well-deserved big breakfast, Hux is surprised by the urgent bleep on both their comm tablets. He glances to Kylo, and they both turn on the holonet news broadcast as instructed.

 _It is unclear what these extra-galactic visitors want_ , says the anchor, _but they are here in huge numbers. We’ll keep you briefed on—oh! I’m… this is breaking news… I’m telling you as we hear it. It seems these visitors from beyond the Outer Rim are… there’s an attack on two… three worlds… we’re hearing of mass casualties, and—_

Kylo looks to Hux in alarm. “Have they opened the war room?”

Hux is already flicking through the group announcements. “Yes. We’re wanted there as soon as.”

“We couldn’t have a whole month?” Kylo complains.

“We don’t know what we’ll be needed for, not yet,” Hux replies. “But I suspect it will be… big.”

Kylo snorts. “They’ve just attacked three Republic worlds. We _will_ be needed.”

“Alright, but how much… we’ll find out. Come on. Your mother won’t be impressed if we’re the last to arrive.”

Hux gulps one last mouthful of juice, swipes his tablet up, and follows Kylo out the door.

Nothing ever goes right for long, does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...bet you thought I was closing this? ;)


	53. Chapter 53

The war room is already full when they get there. With no real battlefronts to face, the majority of their forces are here on D’Qar, and now here in this room… making it crowded. Hux grabs Kylo’s hand as he sees the figures float in the middle of the table. The projected death count is soaring by the second, and after a moment someone has the sense to mute that feed for morale’s sake.

Instead, there’s estimates of the numbers of alien vessels and forecasted alien lifeforms. Details of which worlds have been hit – and what communication lines are still in place – flash up on the sitrep board. 

“Is this – did your family ever… know about anything like this?” Hux asks Kylo.

“Not and tell me. What about the Imperial records?”

“Nothing I saw. Not to say there’s nothing _in_ them, but we’d need to get access to them.”

“I might have an idea on that front,” Kylo says. “Could get us somewhere.” 

Before they can discuss it further, though, the meeting is brought to a start by Admiral Ackbar. The venerable Mon Cal nods around to get attention before speaking. “Thank you all for coming at such short notice. I’m sure you are all aware of the gravity of this situation. The newsreels are not holding back, but the intelligence we’re getting is conflicting and confusing.”

“Do we have anyone out there, Admiral?” Poe asks.

Hux smiles. Always thinking about everyone else. He is a good Commander, after all.  Hux wouldn’t have thought to ask that for some time, yet.

“Not any of our people, but some friends of ours,” Statura replies.

“And we have no idea why they’re attacking?” Hux asks.

“Right now, they haven’t even stopped to talk. Our first reports are that they appeared in the airspace of three planets at once, or pretty much simultaneously. They did not match any ships known, and they did not answer hails. Smaller craft razed the populous areas, and there’s no footfall on the surface so far.” Statura looks down at his tablet, then back up again.

“What has the Republic said?” Leia asks. “Any public statement? Any call to arms?”

“So far, they’ve scrambled their early response team, but they haven’t arrived yet. There’s no local contingent, so they’re going from several sectors over.” Ematt clicks some images onto the map, showing ETAs and numbers.

“We need to know why they’re here, and what they want,” Kylo says. “If we’re going to stop them, we either need to out-gun them, or talk them down.”

“We don’t even know what language they speak,” Snap points out. “How are we going to ‘talk’ to them?”

“Sirs, Ma’ams, if I may?” Threepio’s hydraulic arm lifts. “I am most equipped to translate new languages, as I know—“

“Yes, Threepio, you’ll be involved,” Leia agrees before he can go into his usual patter. “And maybe the Force would be helpful?”

“I will go,” Luke says. 

“And me,” Kylo jumps in.

“Is this when I volunteer, too?” Rey asks.

“Actually, we’ll need you to stay back. We can’t risk all our Jedi – or… Force-users at once,” Leia says, sounding pained to admit it. 

“But—“

Leia reaches over, putting a hand on Rey’s, her voice ever patient and generous. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Who else is coming?” Kylo asks.

“You think you’re going off without us, you got another think coming. The _Falcon_ is still the fastest ship in the galaxy,” Han says.

Chewie adds… something about… blowing through a trunk? It’s a metaphor that Hux is not familiar with, but he’ll ask Kylo, later. He gets the general gist of it, though.

“I’d be delighted,” Luke tells them both.

“Well, you _know_ I need to keep you in check…” Hux says to Kylo.

“You want any of us to go?” Poe asks.

“We need all our pilots here, in case you’re needed in your squadrons,” Ackbar replies, with a sage shake of his large face.

“Looks like it’s old times again, huh, kid?” Han says.

Hux doesn’t realise for a moment that the ‘kid’ is Luke. Luke Skywalker. Venerable Jedi, and still a child to his brother-in-law. Hux smiles. He wonders if Rey will always be the ‘kid’ to Kylo and himself, if they all manage to live to be as old as their forebears. Well. Other than Brendol.

“I’d like to get some real-time intel on this,” Leia says, concluding the meeting. “Analysts on the terminals around the clock. Han – you make sure you _do not_ engage. You’re there for _intelligence_. Which I know is a difficult concept for you.”

The old man’s eyes sparkle. “Hey. Trouble finds _me_.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

***

Han and Chewie head up the cockpit, which leaves Luke, Threepio, Kylo and Hux himself lingering just behind. It’s a bit cramped, but Hux is too anxious not to be there. Even if they’re just tapping in hyperspace jump calcs. He needs to watch.

This is war. Real war. Not just… underhand not-actual-war. Probably? When do you declare war, and can you even declare war on people you don’t know how to talk to, or how to tell them you’re now enemies? Does shooting a lot count?

He’s going to hyperventilate. He’s on the _Millennium Falcon_ with Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Chewbacca, and C-3PO. No matter that he’s eaten at the same table as them, this is _real_. Like. Really real. 

And even for someone who was brought up in the wreckage of the Empire, he knows what this _means_. Okay. Calm down. Calm down, Hux. It’s not like you were _instrumental in taking down the galaxy’s nastiest Force-sensitive_. Why is this suddenly giving him the butterflies? It’s stupid. 

“I am beginning to regret offering my services, Master Luke,” says Threepio beside him, in the most maudlin voice he’s ever heard from a droid of any kind.

“You always do,” Luke smiles at him, his eyes kind and his beard twisted into a smile. 

“Perhaps we could observe and intercept the communications from afar, and then I can work on formulating a working model of their speech?”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna hang you out the airlock on a string,” Han scoffs. 

“Maker, no! That would be most undignified! However would they take me seriously as a diplomatic droid then!”

“Which is why I ain’t doing it.” Han swivels his chair. “Out. Ship’s flying. Proximity alert is on. Out of the cockpit. _Scram.”_

Hux thinks maybe not seeing the screen will help with that.

***

“Can you feel anything through the Force, yet?” Hux asks.

“A lot of death,” Luke admits. He looks to Kylo.

“…I have to say the same,” Kylo admits. “A lot of… silence? Is that… the voices going out in the Force? It feels different.”

The older man’s brow furrows as his eyes close, and Hux recognises that as him reaching out through the Force. The furrow gets deeper, and it almost looks like he’s trying to smell something distant. Hux finds his own face contorting in unconscious mirroring, and he has to forcibly make his own expression straighten out.

“It’s… yes. It’s like it’s… dark. But not the Dark Side, just…”

“…a gap?” Kylo has one leg tucked under himself, and he scrunches a little smaller. 

For a moment, no one really knows what to say. Silence, until Hux manages: “What are we even going to do when we get there?”

“My first plan was go in _real_ fast, and fly around picking up signals, let Threepio and the Jedi do their thing, then… see how much we’re getting shot at,” Han replies.

“I’m… I’m not a Jedi, Dad.” 

“…then what in the hell are you?”

“I’m me.” Kylo shrugs. “Do I need a title?”

Han’s eyes narrow, and then he looks to Luke. “You sure ‘bout this?”

“His path is his to walk, but I believe his actions tell you all you need to know,” Luke replies. “He’s still your son. And he’s still doing the right thing. Does it matter whether he’s a Jedi or not?”

“This from the guy who ran around the galaxy trying to work out how to be one? For pretty much all his damn life?”

“And look at the trouble it caused us all.” Luke’s ribcage expands, and then whooshes out. “I’m a Jedi. Kylo…”

“Let’s just go with ‘Knight’?” Kylo suggests. “It works for both. I don’t… know if you can _be_ both…”

Hux wonders if you can smush the two together. Jedi-Sith? Sith-Jedi? Jith? Sedi? No, that’s all nonsense, and he smiles to himself anyway. He’s Kylo. That’s enough, right?

“Kylo said he had an idea about looking into the Imperial Archives when we were back on D’Qar. About… the aliens?” It’s possible he’s trying to derail the conversation, but that’s because he doesn’t want to deal with the whole Jedi-Sith thing around Han Solo, who everyone onboard knows wasn’t ever very positive towards it in the past. He’s old, and likely won’t change that opinion to Hux’s liking, on Kylo’s behalf.

“Ah, yes. I still have… some names, some people I knew inside. Before I… came home. I thought if we reached out to them, offered them amnesty if they defected. Or even offered them future amnesty at a time of their choosing, if they give us access to the records? There’s a considerable wealth of information in them.”

Han blinks excessively hard. “Huh. Not bad, kid.”

Chewie’s response is also agreement. And then something about safety?

“You should ask Ematt about that,” Hux says. “He’s the best at organising infiltration. I don’t mean in a… spy on the Order remnants way, not this time. He’s just the best placed to make those kinds of offers, and negotiate with the Republic.”

Luke clasps his hands together in front of him. “It’s a very good idea, and it could help pave the way for us to rehabilitate those in the Order. Many of them were not soldiers of conscience, or recruits to the cause. They were taken, or forced into it. We can provide them with the means to live free lives.”

“Yeah, not to mention some of them didn’t see past the recruitment posters. My son ever tell you I was a Buckethead, once? And Luke wanted to join the Academy?”

“It was the only real way off Tatooine,” he says, without sounding defensive. “I wanted to fly, and I wanted to live a more adventurous life.”

“I can understand… I think,” Hux says. “Did you ever get the chance to ask why you got placed on a back-world planet and your sister got to be a princess?”

“I would have made a very poor princess,” Luke demurs. “Leia blossomed under her adoptive parents. My aunt and uncle did the best they could. They were struggling to survive, and they knew of the potential for danger if I ever strayed too far.”

“But… didn’t you ever…?”

“Resent it? A little. But they loved me, and they wanted to keep me safe. And… seeing what happened to my nephew, I can understand that better, now.”

It’s hardly a choice, is it? Grow up almost starving in the middle of nowhere, or be tortured mentally until the goodness in you snaps? Hux is suddenly glad he didn’t get born with those Force powers. He’s sure Brendol would have tossed him to Snoke’s ankles the minute he could float a vegetable, and he doubts he’d be as capable of holding onto ‘himself’ in the face of all that.

“Masters, I believe we are nearing our destination,” Threepio announces. “I shall make my way to the cockpit, so that I may monitor any transmissions from there.”

“You do that,” Han calls after him, and then pushes to his feet. “You three stay here, and _don’t_ broadcast our existence to their whole fleet, would ya?”

“We’ll try,” Kylo says.

***

A few minutes later, the ship jolts to a halt. Or it comes out of hyperspace, anyway, on the side of the planet Djerixo where the aliens are supposed to be furthest from. Hux feels the lurch as priorities change, and then he turns to see both Kylo and Luke turned ashen in shock.

“What?”

“Can… can you?” Kylo asks Luke.

Luke shakes his head.

“Can you what?” Hux demands. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark.

Kylo doesn’t want to answer, but he finally makes eye-contact. “The Force. It’s… _not there.”_

“What do you _mean_ ‘it’s not there’?”

“I can’t feel anything at all.”


	54. Chapter 54

“What do you mean, it’s not there?” Hux asks, fighting hysteria in his voice. This is so not anything he’s prepared for. 

“I can’t feel it. I can’t feel… any of it,” Kylo replies. His eyes are haunted, his face… drawn. The blood’s all but left his features, and he’s right back to the man in the cage Hux first met so many months ago.

Hux searches his features, and then grabs an immobile Marksman-H remote, throwing it at him. Kylo doesn’t stop it – with his hands, or with the Force – and it hits him on the shoulder. 

“Hey!”

“I was testing!” Hux says, defensively. 

“It’s true,” Luke says. “There’s this… emptiness.”

“Is the Force… _can_ it go?” Hux thought it flowed through everything? Like, everything ever? 

“It can be removed – the sensitivity to it – from individuals. And the connection to it can be suppressed, so it’s possible we’ve flown into an area where that’s happened on a larger scale than we’ve seen before. Perhaps the alien creatures?” Luke pushes to his feet. “I need to get closer.”

“Is that even wise?” Kylo asks. “We came because we can use the Force. If we _can’t_ use it, then what use _are_ we?”

“Plenty.”  Luke walks out of the room, and Hux is left staring at Kylo. 

“I don’t like this,” Kylo says. “I’ve… I know it’s tempting fate to say it, but I’ve got a _really_ bad feeling about this.”

“You and me both. If they can somehow suppress the Force…”

“I hope it’s that.”

“Kylo, do you really think the Force could… go? I mean, everywhere?”

“…no… but… we don’t really understand what ‘it’ is, or why – really – some of us can access, or feel it, and others can’t.” The Knight stands, and fusses with his saber-hilt, his fingers anxious and jerking. “It could choose to leave us, if it felt like it?”

“Really?”

“I don’t know. I just…” Worried eyes, and a lowering head. “It’s all I’ve ever been good at, Hux. The Force was my only gift.”

“You can fix almost as many ships as your father, you’re actually very eloquent, thoughtful, and a good strategist. And you think the Force is all you have?”

“How would you feel if you lost it?”

“I don’t know,” Hux replies, honestly. “I’ve never had it to lose.”

“…let’s just see what’s happening.” Kylo’s tone says ‘no more’ on that topic, and Hux is sort of glad.

***

“Masters, there is not enough for me to yet decode their speech, as they also may be scrambling their communications. It would also be easier if we engaged in a dialogue, attempting to communicate,” Threepio says, his head whirling between everyone aboard. 

“You can hail them just before we leave,” Luke tells him. “When the hyperspace co-ordinates are locked.”

“Very well, Master Luke.”

“It’s… an abattoir…” Hux breathes. The viewscreen is filled with scorched sections of the planet below, and the pulsing waves of small, star-fighter size crafts that fly over her surface. “Maker, is anyone getting off this planet alive?”

“There’s people jumped. Mostly from the quiet face of the world,” Han says. “Now there’s not many getting away. Republic ships are holding some paths clear, but…”

They can all see the carnage. Han flips the agile ship through straits, narrowly avoiding other vessels or proton discharge. Hux has to admire his flying, but watching things bank and twist so quickly is very disorientating. Even Poe and Rey had been a bit more circumspect than this, or maybe he’s just too shaken to cope with the acrobatics right now. 

“If you need anything, now’s the time to get it,” the pilot tells C-3PO.

Chewie confirms the jump’s plotted.

“Very well, I will broadcast multiple greetings and offers of negotiation at once,” Threepio explains, still docked with the _Falcon_. “I will run diagnostics on the responses, including inter-ship.”

“Maybe tell us what they’re saying, but not how you’re doing it,” Han suggests. “Cause I’m trying to save your sorry asses from—“

Chewie roars, and slams some buttons. The ship jumps into the black before anyone but he and Han can prepare, and Hux grabs at Kylo’s arm as the jolt hits him square in the chest. 

“…well, that was not helpful,” the droid complains in a prim tone.

The further they fly away, the more the frown on Kylo’s face washes away. Hux feels the relief as a tangible thing, and he looks up for confirmation. “It’s back?”

“Yes,” Kylo says. “I can feel it again. Although… now I know what that was, I can… sense there’s a gap where the Force should still be.”

“It’s like a blind spot when you’re flying,” Luke muses aloud. “You know it’s there, but you can’t see into it.”

Chewie asks if it’s spreading. 

“Not beyond those worlds, not yet,” the Jedi answers. “But it is a cause for concern. And nothing I’ve known on this scale, not ever.”

“Can you ask the Jedi ghosts?” Hux asks. 

“I’m going to try, when we get home.”

***

Home turns out to be a mess. There’s casualties of the attack fleeing the worlds and looking for shelter wherever will take them, and then people on those worlds trying to relocate further Core-ward. Everyone’s trying to scrunch further from the invaders, and the military forces aren’t making any real dent in their numbers. Around the docking bay, people are buzzing about with the stories of first- and second-hand accounts they’ve heard, clips are playing, and speculation is running rampant. 

Rey and R2-D2 are the only ones to officially greet them, and the young Jedi looks haunted.

“The squadrons all deployed. Called up by the Republic,” she says. “There’s a massive refugee problem. Did… did you manage to find anything out?”

“There’s a gap in the Force,” Luke says.

“I knew it,” Rey says, and then slaps her hands over her mouth. “I knew it.” 

“I have some work to do on translating,” Threepio adds.

R2 whirs an offer of help, bundled up in a passive-aggressive insult.

“Yes, well, if you _could_ speak Basic.”

The astromech snorts that it understands it just fine, and that’s what the protocol droid is for. For once, Threepio doesn’t sass back.

“We need to speak to Leia,” Han says. “Where is she, kiddo?”

“At home.”

***

Five hours later, Hux has seen the same clips so many times he knows what’s coming in all of them. He knows he’s going to _dream_ about them, a desperate need to change what happens next and a crushing realisation that it’s a fixed moment in time. No matter what, those things happened. He can’t take them back, no one can.

The death count is staggering. It beggars belief. It’s more than whole Star Destroyers worth of dead, and Hux can’t imagine that many lives ended, not through violence. And for no reason they can figure, either. No demands, just… destruction.

Threepio only comes back with the barest of lexicon to use with them, and they don’t even know how the alien intruders self-refer. What do they call themselves? 

The press and the people are all calling them Invaders, but that’s not a good name. Hux is sure there’ll be something better soon, but the danger is too vivid and immediate for anything more poetic, yet. 

Kylo comes back in from the latest refreshment run. He’s got snack bars and caf, and Hux wants neither, and needs both. He grumbles back at his stomach and takes tiny bites and sips to replenish his energy levels. 

Rey has a blanket over her shoulders, and Han and Leia both look like they need to collapse. Luke has that Jedi-stoic thing going on, and Hux leans up to whisper at Kylo’s ear. “You should suggest your parents take first rest. We can hold the fort for a few hours more.”

“I may be older, but I’m not deaf,” Leia snaps. And then – seeing the look from Luke – relents. “Alright. Han and I are gonna get a few hours. But I _want_ you to **promise** you will wake us if we’re needed. And then we’ll all get some sleep in turn, and work out a functional rota for duties.”

“Yes, Mom,” Kylo replies, his tone sparkier than he must feel. And without – for a change – any sass.

“I mean it.”

“We’ll get you,” Luke promises. “But we all do still need to rest.”

“Because you wouldn’t teach me the Jedi thing to get me through without sleep,” Leia Organa bites back.

“You wouldn’t be able to do it in a stressful situation, and you’d just work yourself into an early grave if we all let you,” her twin replies.

Hux smiles. She would. He can see his future laid out for him, and it involves… being shuffled to bed by people who care about his health more than he does. That’s nice to know, and he watches Han hold his hand out to her.

“C’mon, Princess. We ain’t as young as we were.”

“No, we’re not.” She looks up to Chewie. “You, too. You get some sleep, or I’ll hear about it.”

The Wookie grumpily agrees, and Hux is left with three Force-sensitives, two droids, and a large mug of caf.

And Kylo, who is clearly working on something.

“Are you going to say it now your parents are gone?” Rey asks, with a surprising level of both tact and insight. Hux is impressed.

“We have a Plus-Minus Tie-Card,” Kylo says. “We have something that could help us, or could blow up in our faces right now. We have to play it right, or we’ll… we’ll be fighting a war on two sides.”

Hux’s eyes widen. “You want to contact the Order? Or what’s left of it?”

“Yes. We can offer them amnesty, if they turn their weapons in the same direction as ours. If we have a common enemy, then… they will bond more easily back into society,” Kylo continues. “They’ll see there’s more to existence than they thought. Right?”

“Whilst conflict of any kind is better avoided, occasionally our opponents leave us no choice,” Luke replies. “And non-aggression, when you are persecuted… can be harmful, too.”

“You… think it will work?” Rey asks. “Aren’t they… aren’t they… evil?”

Hux winces. “It’s complicated, Rey. A lot of them – a _lot_ of them – are just… following orders. And not just to avoid being hurt, or killed, or abandoned. They’ve had those policies drummed into their heads. Plus… you always have to hope people can change their minds.”

“Especially when given support, or information, or assistance,” Luke murmurs. “No one is a lost cause, unless they don’t want to be helped.”

“How do we do this?” Hux asks. “Kylo, you said you had some contact points, still?”

“I do. I mostly dealt with the Knights. And… we still have one. In prison, but… we could broker a deal, and through them contact what remains of the Order’s command structure.”

“Tell me it isn’t Ithon,” Hux begs. He can work with many people, but he’s not sure he could face that one again. 

“It isn’t. Though you might not like her, either.”

“Is she in…?”

Kylo nods.

Oh.

This is… another interesting irony. A Knight, locked in the cells where he’d first met Kylo: history repeating itself.

“Who should do the talking?” Kylo asks.

“You think both of us would be too much?” Hux isn’t sure. Kylo has knowledge of her, but Hux has experience in this. 

“I think… me to start, to… open the topic up, and then we re-evaluate?”

“It sounds wise to me,” Luke agrees, clasping Kylo’s arm. “But after you’ve slept.”

“We also need to agree a release plan with the Republic if we go through with this,” Hux says. “We’re no longer able to act without… some ratification.”

“I’ll help with that,” Rey offers. “If Kylo wants to work on his pitch to – what’s her name?”

“Nazia,” Kylo says.

“Then we can work on her terms?” Rey suggests to Hux.

“Yes. We’ve got a lot to do. We need to start right away,” Hux agrees. 

Two Knights. It’s no longer a make-or-break for his career, but possibly… well. The _galaxy_.


	55. Chapter 55

Hux stands in the next room, watching the monitor. How many people watched him with Kylo, he wonders? He knows the recordings were reviewed by Kylo’s mother, and – well – he hopes they’ve all been destroyed, now, considering how things ended. 

Nazia Ren – the only remaining Knight (unless you count Kylo, which Hux isn’t sure if you do or not) – is a girl. Or… Hux thinks she’s a girl. As in, she’s probably a year or two younger than _Rey_ is, and even though she’s spitting fire and fury in her cage, it oddly just makes him feel even more protective of her.

Understanding what Kylo went through means he’s got infinitely more compassion for any Force-sensitive. Life seems to treat them all pretty shitty, if Kylo, Luke, Leia, Rey… even Anakin Skywalker-Darth Vader himself are anything to go by.

Her hair is short and practical, nothing like Kylo’s own beautiful locks. It’s a muted golden-brown, sliced to the sides of her head and with a tangle of tiny curls on top. Angry blue-green eyes that dart left to right like she’s reading a script projected on the transparisteel wall between them. 

She’s wearing the same style jumpsuit they’d put Kylo in. Unlike him, without her layers of black, she’s miniscule. She’s – she’s practically a _child_. Hux is glad Snoke is dead, or he might kill him all over. 

Nazia has nothing to throw, but she still punches the window between them, aiming for Kylo’s head.

Hux can see that Kylo doesn’t flinch. Not at all. 

“I’m here to negotiate,” Kylo opens, his stance as non-threatening as a man of his stature can be without curling into a ball.

“I don’t negotiate with Resistance _scum_ ,” she replies.

“You do realise if you don’t negotiate with me, that you’ll be stuck here – alone – for a very long time?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I was there, too,” Kylo continues without a single break in his stride. “Alone. Captive.”

“And you broke like a pathetic bitch.” Nazia draws her height up as much as it will go, and spits at the transparisteel. “You disgust me.”

Hux’s heart falls, but he shouldn’t be surprised by this. After all, how long had it taken him to break Kylo? And even then, did it really count as breaking? 

“Whether or not you believe in my personal cause, there’s a threat out there which is – it seems – bipartisan.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Kylo clicks a button, and the opposite wall flashes up the images from the Rim Worlds. “They attacked. They won’t negotiate. They’ve taken over five worlds, and we have no idea if that’s the end of it.”

“So?”

“Don’t you want your precious Order to be safe?”

“As you so wonderfully reminded me, there _is_ no Order. You killed all the Knights, and the Leader.”

“Not the Order of Ren. The _First_ Order.”

She shrugs. 

“Nazia… you know as well as I do that the two were linked. There was no denying it. I _know_ you had friends, there. You were the most sociable of us all.”

“So?”

“So, if we don’t stand together, what remains of those people will likely end in their destruction. And our side, too. We don’t need to agree with each other’s policies to defend ourselves mutually.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“The enemy of your enemy is destroying worlds and not even taking prisoners.”

“Like I’m supposed to be grateful for you putting me in a fucking cage?”

Kylo’s hands clench, Hux can see. He’s trying so very hard to remain calm. “You asked for your life to be spared. We spared it.”

“And put me in here.”

“Which is why I came to discuss ways to _get you out_.”

“BY TURNING ME INTO A TRAITOR.”

“Nazia! Would you stop this? The Knights of Ren are _gone_. You have no one! There is no one left! All you have is the First Order, and anyone who is still alive there. Do you really want to condemn the galaxy to death?”

“Rather death than a **lie**.”

Fury makes his hair stand on end, and Hux isn’t sure if he should intervene now, or not. 

“Would you honestly rather die, than face the possibility that we could find some common ground between the Republic and the Order? I’m not asking you to switch sides. I’m asking you to help broker a deal for mutual survival.”

Hux wonders if he can take the credit for Kylo’s latent diplomacy, but he probably just honed skills that were natural and reinforced by Leia and Luke. 

Nazia turns away, and walks to the far side of the room.

“We’re not trying to trick you. We want to save lives, and if both of us fight wars on two fronts, we _will_ lose. It’s that simple.”

“They wouldn’t believe me. Even if I tried. I’m your _slave_.”

“You’re our prisoner of war,” Kylo corrects her. “And we’d have to negotiate with them.”

“And when we win? When we defeat the enemies?”

“We’ll have a solid base of co-operation to discuss what concerns each side have. Either an organised, constrained secession from the Republic, or some kind of… working agreement. But that’s after we save everyone’s lives.”

“And me?”

“We could give you a home, Naz. We could give you a place to be safe. No locking up.”

“Get me the terms of your agreement. I’m not signing anything until I know what it is.”

Wow. Hux is impressed. That’s much faster than he expected, even _with_ the prior knowledge. It’s the first step, but it’s a big one.

***

“I thought for a minute you were going to smash the window,” Hux admits, “…but you’ve really… you’ve got a talent for that.”

“Well, I did used to break people.”

They’re decompressing, and he can see the edges of shakes to his shoulders, the aftermath of being so in control and strong for so long.

“But with the _Force_. You just used your words on her, didn’t you?”

“I suppose so.” Kylo smiles. “She was always the friendly one. Don’t judge her on what you just saw: she’s got no one left, and… well. You know what that kind of isolation she’s in can do to a person.”

“How… well did you know the Knights?”

“For years, every one of them. Some I got on better with than others, of course. Some I am more upset about them dying than others, but it had to be done.”

Hux grabs his fiancé’s hand, and squeezes. “We’ve got one out. Maybe we can help her.”

“I hope so.”

***

Nazia Ren’s dampening collar is still on, but not for much longer if this all goes well. They’ve her some less dehumanising clothing: a simple russet blouse and black slacks. You’d be forgiven for thinking she was just another Resistance soldier or worker, looking at her. 

It’s only the fact that both Kylo and Rey are around that means she’s not properly cuffed to things. Hux is glad they’ve given her some measure of personal freedom, though, because being robbed of everything is degrading.

He’s not sure… if he could do it again. Not long-term. A short-term pushing for intel, perhaps, but… a real destruction of a person? Perhaps Ematt’s attempt to steer him into new career paths was a wise one.

“Your name is Nazia, is that correct?” General Organa is as level-headed as she ever is in emergencies. 

The woman nods.

“I’m General Organa, and this is one of the Republic Senators.”

“Senator Harian,” the man says, with a hand on his chest. “Thank you for agreeing to these discussions.”

Hux isn’t sure showing her a Senator is the wisest choice, but if they want this alliance to work long-term, the Order is going to need to recognise that the Republic is primarily a democracy, with military support.

“You’ll know my son, Kylo. And—“

“I know the boy and the girl,” Nazia spits. 

Boy. It’s been some time since anyone referred to him like that and wasn’t Han Solo. He likes her more already. “Did they brief you on our names?”

Nazia shrugs.

“Hux,” he offers. “And this is Rey.”

“Look, can we stop all pretending we’re friends? Because we’re not. You want to bully the Order into sending soldiers to die to save your own, and whittle their numbers down. I’m not an idiot, you know.”

“We’re sending our own troops. If the Order decides it only wants to assist in recon work, or evacuation work, instead of front-line activity… we can make use of that,” Leia corrects her. “We’re not trying to get anyone killed. We want to _save_ lives.”

“I’ll second that,” the Senator adds. “We’ll be open with your people. We want to not fight you while this is happening, and – if possible – work _with_ you.”

“Right. You keep saying that.” Nazia rolls her eyes. “You going to let me get to an unrestricted comm to set up a meet?”

“With someone to supervise, yes.”

“Okay. And I’m to tell them…?”

“You’ll give them comm frequencies and protocols to contact us, so we can set up a remote conference,” Harian replies. “We’ll provide a brief offer to speak to them, and you can discuss to a limited extent with your contact point.”

“And out of this, I get…?”

“If you can get them to talk to us, in all seriousness, and we can sign a treaty to both sides’ satisfaction… you will be allowed to go. There will be some caveats and circumstances that would lead to a warrant out for your arrest, but otherwise… you would be released,” Leia concludes.

It is way more than Hux thought would be offered. Way more. She would be the biggest fool in the whole galaxy to turn that down. Even Kylo hadn’t been offered amnesty so easily, but he’d had somewhere to run back to if they let him go, and someone who wanted to prevent that.

Two people, in the end. First Leia, then himself.

“Give me the comm.”

***

Once the five worlds are evacuated, the alien Invaders swarm the space around them and seem to nestle down for the time being. The best guess anyone has is that they’re strip-mining the planets for resources, or settling, which is… worrying.

The Republic Navy is busy writing in all the Resistance ships and pilots as part of their compliment, which should be interesting as quite a few ‘defected’ (or just… stepped sideways) to here from there. The war room is open constantly, but there’s no need for everyone to stay up until ungodly hours. No need at all.

So when the evening meal has finished, and they’re left to their own devices for the evening… it’s a surreal feeling. 

Hux brushes his teeth and listens to Kylo getting their bed ready, and then spits the froth into the basin. It’s only a few hours ago they were planning their wedding, and now they’re planning for war. Real war. Again. 

And no insiders in the organisation they can use, like they had with Kylo. No long-lost alien Invader to drag home and talk it through. 

He’s pensively quiet when he slips under the covers, and he’s grateful that Kylo comes up against his side and slings an arm over him. Fingers stroke Hux’s hip, and he turns his face into the waterfall of hair. 

“We’re going to need to delay the wedding,” Hux says. “Unless you just want a small affair.”

“I’d be happy with that, but would you?”

“It’s more your… relatives and friends I am concerned about.”

Kylo laughs. “Yeah. Mom would kill me if my wedding was less impressive than hers. Or more. It will have to be just the same level.”

The realisation of the very, very tight tightrope they’re going to walk dawns on him in all its glory. “…shit. We’re not going to get any say in it, are we?”

“Nope. You… did understand that when you proposed to me?”

“I guess so.” He kisses under his ear, tired, but… okay. It’s still tense as all hell, but it’s a bit more manageable tonight. 

“Still sure about it?”

Hux cocks a leg over Kylo’s, lowering a hand below the covers. He beams widely, and feels for the slight swell of interest already there. Kylo is tired, but he’ll still perform if played right. “Do you honestly doubt me? Do you think I back down from anything I set my mind to?”

A laugh, and Kylo’s wrist crosses his. Both lying supine, touching gently at the other’s groin. Hux scrunches the dark hair under his fingers, and pinches lightly so Kylo’s cock sways from it. 

“I don’t doubt you one bit.”

His breath cranks up a notch as Hux grips him tight, pulsing his hand looser and firmer as he starts to stroke him properly. Kylo is clearly interested, because his own hand doesn’t move for long moments to appreciate it, until he starts mirroring the gestures. 

A quick handjob isn’t exactly the most showy or involved methods of getting pleasure, but it is still enjoyable. It’s thrilling in an almost illicit way, even though they’re in their own bed, in their own home. It’s like trying to jerk off in private, except you’re right next to someone and you can’t control your own dick because someone else has it in hand.

Kylo’s hips rock into the touches, and Hux narrows his focus. He uses his thumb underneath, and palms over the head when he reaches it. Down, to thwack at his balls, making them sway. 

“Oh… oh… don’t stop,” Kylo begs, his own hand doubling in speed and almost making it ache. 

The touches to his own cock make it difficult to focus, so he turns his head and bumps it against Kylo’s. “Want you to come all over my hand, Kylo. Want you to come where I can lick it all up.”

“Oh, _ohhh_ …” That voice. Sex bottled, concentrated, and released.

Hux feels the scrape of a nail, and suddenly he’s fighting not to come right then and there. He wants Kylo to get as close to off as possible before he finishes, and he growls: “Kiss me. Fucking kiss me.”

Lips against his, and a tongue fucking his mouth open. Hux’s hips move harder, and he beats his lover off like he’s trying to get there, and fast. Like someone might barge in at any moment, and this is a problem that needs remedying. 

Death is so close, and it should be so far. The thought of losing him has Hux moving fast: leaping on top of him and jerking Kylo’s cock like it’s an evil monster, needing to be punished. Harder. Kylo’s hand won’t stop the pressure on his own, and Hux feels his climax start somewhere in his toes and pulse up and out. Great big streaks of white, and the feeling of damp and goo is clearly enough for Kylo. Hux strokes him until he’s no longer fighting the battle inside, and his cock spurts just as fiercely into the gap between their bodies. 

A deep breath. Two.

“We’ll get through this,” Kylo tells him, even as they slump into being sticky, chest to chest. 

“I know. I just…”

“Thought we were owed a break?”

Hux nods. 

“That would be dull.”

Alright. Got him there. Hux laughs, and grabs for some of the paper towels by the bed. “Silly boy.” He’d like a bit more dull, he would. Maybe just for a honeymoon. Which won’t happen any time soon at all. 


	56. Chapter 56

The next day, Leia asks for the key players to the War Room. Their numbers are severely depleted, and Hux wonders how many have gone to swell the Republic ranks.

“I’ve been recalled,” General Organa tells the assembled group. 

“Can they do that?” Kylo asks. “On what grounds?”

“It was a request, but it’s a recall,” Leia replies. “With Alderaan gone for over thirty years, the Senate has no real jurisdiction over me, except as a dispossessed galactic citizen. I was never in _their_ military structure, but they’ve chosen to accept my rank and offer me a position within their military command.”

“What does that mean?” Rey asks.

“It means the Boss Lady’s been invited to help them run the war effort, legitimately, for once,” Han interprets. “Means they’re swearing all of us in. At least – provisionally.”

The young Jedi stares in confusion. “But you already fought for them?” 

Poor Rey. She’s not had to deal with this for the majority of her life. 

Leia smiles fondly. “We’ve always been unofficially supported, but not part of the Republic’s actual forces. We fought for them, and they gave us supplies, but we were two organisations. That… could be over.”

“I’m still not convinced. The bureaucracy they go through…” Statura’s nose wrinkles.

“It’s what we all fought for,” Hux points out. “Isn’t it?”

“Kiddo, we’ve just got… used to being able to do things we need to,” Han says, sounding offended. “Without all the red tape.”

“So we still do those things, but _with_ the Republic. That’s why they’ve asked for us, right? They know we know how to get things done?” Maybe it’s above his station, but if they’re doing this… they should do it properly.

“Hux is right,” Leia says.

That – that sends a flicker of pride through him, and he stands up taller.

“The Republic is what we all wanted to support, not just defeat the First Order.” Leia makes sure she catches everyone’s eyes at least once. “They do have their flaws, we’ll all admit, but at their heart they are democracy, and what we want to protect. I believe if we function _within_ their scope, and widen that scope, then we have a chance to make a real difference. As _well_ as save lots of lives.”

“How will this work?” Ackbar asks. “We have already sent almost all of our X-Wings to join their squadrons.”

“We will maintain some autonomy, in that our current leaders will be allowed to retain their command posts, but it will be via me,” Leia answers. “There will be some – essential – cross-deployment. Some of our troops will join their squadrons, and vice versa. This will allow us to forge stronger bonds.”

Chewie roars a question.

“Yes, of course. We won’t be demanding people join up with this merged force. It will be – as all our positions are – entirely voluntary. After the war concludes, there may not be a distinct entity known as the Resistance. We may simply become re-aligned with the Republic.”

“It sounds… hopeful,” Kylo says. “When do we start?”

“I’m going on the _Falcon_ to meet my contacts on Hosnian Prime first thing tomorrow. There will be a gradual dispersal to key bases within the Republic’s remit. No one will be forced to come to any decision immediately.”

Hux looks at Kylo. They’ve already decided. He glances at Rey, and he’s sure she has, too.

***

That evening, the first holo conference with the Order is set up. Nazia is, of course, present. From the Resistance side it is Hux and Kylo, with Leia and Threepio. It’s a small gathering, and Hux knows he’s only there because Kylo wants him there. And Kylo is only there because Leia wants _him_ there. 

He’s never done a big meeting like this before, but the universe is full of firsts. Hux looks around the room, taking note of where the recorders and emitters are. 

“You know, this is still a dumb idea,” Nazia rumbles. 

“Perhaps, but the galaxy has been saved by ‘dumb ideas’ more than you’d like to think,” Leia replies. “Threepio, would you initiate the link?”

“Of course, Princess.” The golden protocol unit bows from his stiff middle, and goes to engage the controls. 

On flicker two figures. One – Mitaka – he recognises. The other is in trooper armour – much taller than the Lieutenant – though the armour looks a little… glossier. It’s hard to tell via the holo. 

“Greetings, I am C-3PO, Human-Cyborg relations,” the droid says, bending mechanically in their direction. “I have the great pleasure of introducing: The Princess Leia Organa, General of the – of the Republic and Resistance.”

Hux wonders if using both groups was a mistake, from the wince.

“You will already know Nazia Ren, of the Knights of Ren.”

“Formerly,” she mutters. “ _Apparently_.”

Threepio does not stop. “Kylo… of… Organa, and—“

“We know them, yes,” Mitaka replies. “I’m Lieutenant Mitaka, and this is Captain Phasma.”

“Sirs, Ma’ams,” comes a female voice.

Oh, she is tall for a woman. Hux is momentarily taken aback, but then the situation moves on. He does wonder why he never gets introduced properly. Not that it really matters.

“You wanted to talk,” Mitaka cuts right to it. “What have you got to say to us?”

“You will have seen the same newscasts that we have,” Leia answers. “You know we’re all in grave danger.”

“So far it looks like _you_ are in danger,” Mitaka shoots back.

“And when all Republic worlds fall, do you really think what little support and outposts you still have will be saved?”

“If we ally with them, perhaps, yes.” 

“Good luck doing that, when they won’t even _talk_ ,” Kylo snaps. 

“And I should trust the advice of a traitor – _two_ traitors – why?”

Hux doesn’t know if he or Nazia is number two.

“Threepio?” Leia prompts.

“Oh, yes, of course. My apologies, General Organa. Lieutenant Mitaka, if you would kindly accept a data transmission?”

He nods, and Phasma taps at some functions. There’s a moment as Mitaka reads. “This is your intel from the planets? Tactical and linguistics?”

Leia’s head tilts. “Everything we have, in a gesture of good faith. So you can see what they are capable of, and why we need to work together.”

Mitaka’s expression pales. “This… about the Force? Is it true?”

Nazia turns in concern. “What about the Force? What didn’t you tell me?”

“They seem to be able to nullify Force-sensitives’ connections to the living Force,” Kylo answers. “When we were there… we could no longer connect to it at all.”

“And you didn’t want to tell me: why?”

“It wasn’t the right time.” Kylo won’t look her in the eyes. “If we fight this, we go in as – no offence – blind as those who can’t feel the Force.”

“Is that why you’ve come running for help?” the female Captain – Phasma, wasn’t it? – asks. “Your Jedi don’t work any more, and without them you’re helpless?”

Leia won’t accept that, of course. “We’re far from helpless. But we _will_ be stronger with you. You do not have to make your decision now, but you’ve got all the facts. We would be prepared to negotiate on the terms of our partnership, and I _am_ authorised to speak on behalf of the Republic by the Senate.”

Mitaka taps his lips with his fingers. “I see. Well. We will consider your offer. Would you consider returning the Knight of Ren to us?”

“That could be part of the negotiated terms,” Leia responds. 

“Alright. Thank you for your time, General.” Mitaka cuts the comm, and leaves them alone.

“You don’t have the _Force_?” Nazia spits back out.

“I do _now_ ,” Kylo corrects her. “I didn’t when I was close by, it was like a big, dark cloud of nothing.”

“What in creation _are_ those things?”

“We wish we knew,” Hux mutters.

***

That night, the newscasts are all focussed on the closest sensor and satellite feeds to the five fallen worlds. Rumour is running rife that they’re about to move out, and Hux doesn’t know what to think. They’ve lost those worlds. Five of them, just gone. The inhabitants killed, if they couldn’t evacuate. The whole political and social and – _everything_ – infrastructure just… kaput. 

Of course there’s other things on, but Hux just… he can’t flick away from the constant speculation. 

“Hux… this is probably our last night here.”

“Hmm?”

“We’ll go with Mom to Hosnian Prime.  Won’t we?”

“Yes.”

“So… this is our last night here. We’re…”

Losing their home. It hits him, suddenly, a wave of nostalgia and they haven’t even left, yet. The way the couch cushions have seeped into the middle from all the cuddling. The caf stain on one arm. The pots, the pans, the mug Kylo got him. The shower, the kitchen table… the bed. 

He’d always assumed they’d just stay, and now they’re being displaced because of this war. 

Sure, the Resistance had always moved around a lot, but they’d _won_. They’d won, so they were supposed to get their happily-ever-after. (A small voice snarks: what, like Leia and Han did? And he tries to ignore it.) He’s going to leave this all behind, and he turns into Kylo’s neck.

“We’ll come back, when it’s over. Unless somewhere else feels more like home.”

A nod, and Kylo laces their hands together. “Can we just not watch this tonight? If anything happens, we’ll hear about it.”

“Okay,” Hux agrees, and turns the holo off.

***

Rey takes to flying like Hux takes to breathing, so she is up in the cockpit with Han and Chewie. 

The _Falcon_ could fit more of them, but it’s the – apparently – new family that settles their worldly goods on the Corellian freighter. Hux and Kylo sit with Leia and Luke in the communal area, nursing warm mugs of caf to deal with the early morning hustle and bustle. Threepio and Artoo are off to one side, bickering as usual.

“When did they move from Coruscant?” Luke asks. “I liked Coruscant.”

“It was a dive,” Leia replies, ignoring the question. 

“But it was _the_ dive. No small feat to move the centre of galactic politics so easily.” Luke sounds wistful.

Hux wonders why. He’d never been to Coruscant, but he’d seen enough footage of it.

“No, it wasn’t easy,” she admits. 

Hux wonders how much of it she was involved in. He vaguely remembers the move happening, but it had so little to do with him at the time that he’d just parsed the knowledge and not considered the effort.

“You missed so much,” Leia tells him. 

“I know. I’m sorry. You… always were the one for political means, though.”

“I had little choice in the matter.”

Hux watches as the two twins clasp hands, and he looks expectantly up to Kylo. Thankfully, his fiancé knows enough to call Hux away, and away from the protocol droid and astromech unit, too. 

Kylo takes him on a brief trip and they wind up in another hidden compartment together. Hux is sure there’s probably even room for a small city in the footwell of Han’s pilot chair, because there’s so many little hideaways here that it must defy space and time. 

“We’ll make it like home,” Hux tells him. “Wherever we’re stationed. You know that.”

“I’m used to being moved around, you know. First with my parents, then with the Order.”

“Yes. But…” He wants to say ‘it’s different, now’, but is it? For Hux it is. For Kylo… 

“Used to hide when we went somewhere new. Make them come find me. Used to beg just to live on the ship forever, because it would feel more like home. Then I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to a new place.”

Even though it sounds better than what he had, Hux can still see it wasn’t the best childhood. “Living in space long-term…”

“Isn’t ideal. I found that out. Still; moving wasn’t ideal, either. I know they tried to minimise it… but it made making friends hard.”

The subject is a little too maudlin, Hux thinks. Time to change it. 

“What do you think our chances of properly turning Nazia are?”

“Aren’t you the specialist?” Kylo tucks his hair back, a little self-consciously. “With her Force sensitivity dampened, I can’t get that read on her, but I think we’ve got a chance. She was always very sociable, and I mean… she bonded with people, not just superficial connections. She was empathetic, and smart. The idea of regaining the Force and not losing it to Invaders will definitely appeal.”

“What about Mitaka and Phasma? What do you know of them?”

“Both career minded, very devout, but he’s also pragmatic. He never much liked me, but he’ll work with us if it serves the greater good. The Captain… again, very driven. She’ll probably follow his lead. What’s interesting is who they sent.”

“I was thinking that. Why a Lieutenant? He’s hardly the ranking officer.”

“And I knew all their command structure. Makes me wonder how many are left.”

“I’m guessing they’re facing retention challenges.”

“And then some,” Kylo agrees. “They need us more than we need them, and they have to realise this may be their only chance to legitimise themselves.”

Hux thinks for a moment, chewing on his cheek. “It’s going to be that programming, that conditioning that we are fighting against. It’s not ironclad, as you and I attest. But it’s going to be an uneasy truce all the same.”

“That’s why I want to lead a joint force, if we do this; like the Resistance and the Republic. We need to integrate in order to fight for one another.”

“I’d follow you. In battle, anyway.” It’s a very good idea, after all, and Kylo does have more combat experience than he does. Hux is not a leader, not in the same way, and he’d be an idiot if he thought he could win over enough people quickly to command.

“Thank you,” Kylo says, genuinely. “I’d feel better with you by my side.”

“It’s where I’m meant to be.”


	57. Chapter 57

Hux has never stepped foot on any part of the Hosnian system before. He’s just never needed to. In fact, he thinks this might be the most Core-wards he’s ever really _been_ , and he feels oddly bowled over by it all. 

He can only imagine how Rey must feel as they arrive on a high landing pad, attached to a very, very nice set of apartments. Threepio must have had a field day organising this, it’s got his digital footprint all over. They step out to be greeted by at least two Senators that Hux alone can recognise, and he just wants to drink in the scenery, not nod and smile and forget who he’s introduced to.

Towering, glittering spikes. Weaving skycars. There’s barely any sky visible unless you look straight up, and he doesn’t want the vertigo of looking straight _down_. There’s handrails around the edge of the platform, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t fall to a very painful death at terminal velocity if you wanted, or someone wanted it _for_ you.

The words sort of wash over him as they’re all lead inside. There’s a long corridor, and they’re each given keycards to their sections. Leia and Han have one room, Luke has the one adjoining (which Chewie is apparently sharing). Opposite Luke is theirs, and adjacent to them is Rey. 

Rey, who had been a simple scavenger from Jakku. Hux, who had been a runaway son of a First Order Commandant. Not bad, really. (He somehow always forgets that Luke had been a nobody from his own desert world, as well as the son of Darth Vader. He also forgets that Han had been a smuggler, hired by chance. Sometimes he remembers, but now is not when.)

Leia, Luke, Han and Chewie have meetings to go to, which leaves them all free to acclimatise to their new surroundings. After moving in their luggage and unpacking into various wardrobes and cupboards, Kylo looks over to him.

“…should we… invite Rey in?”

“Yes, I think she’d like that.” 

Because up here, they’re away from all the small groups of people they’d come to know. Most of the pilots had already left, but there were others. The web is broken, or stretched so thin it might as well be.

A knock later, and all three of them have a soft and supportive seat by the huge window overlooking the cityscape. Hux is nursing a cool glass of water, and trying not to look too provincial whilst also admiring the view. 

“I keep thinking this will be another dream,” Rey admits. “It’s all so much to take in.” 

“It doesn’t feel real, here, does it? Away from all the fighting.” Kylo chews on his lip. “I have been, though.”

“…dreaming about it?” Rey asks, following the thin train of thought.

Ah, a Force thing. “What have you dreamt?” Hux asks.

“It’s hard to… put into words. A lot of it is absence. Like…” Kylo gestures vaguely. “I’ll be flying through space, and then all my senses will be gone. Literally. Just the dream becomes black. It’s unsettling, to say the least.”

“I thought I was dreaming about being dead,” Rey admits. “It was awful.”

“Do you – do you feel different, now you know you have the Force?” Hux asks her.

“I think… it’s like being aware of something that was always there?” Rey says. “I don’t actually know what it feels like to not have it.”

“You might get to tell, soon,” Kylo says. “We’re going to need to train harder to be able to compensate.”

Hux looks up at Kylo. “You know… now might be a good time to get some flying lessons in. If it comes to it, and there’s no one else to fly…”

Kylo winces, and Hux feels a little bad about raising the issue, but it’s important. And it could save his life. 

“You’re right. I just… it isn’t my favourite memory.” His hands wring, and he glances between them. He’s nervous about the confession, in front of Rey. “Han… doesn’t understand not everyone learns how he teaches.”

“I can understand a little,” Rey says, softly. “He is very set in his ways. I think I offended him at least three times when he was showing me the _Falcon_ , and one of those was about the Kessel Run.”

Kylo barks a short laugh. “Oh, you need to be careful. You’ll hurt his one, remaining feeling. And then he’ll be sour for the rest of the day.”

“I could try to teach you,” she suggests. “You’ve taught me plenty. And… if I could help you, too, Hux?”

“Actually not a bad idea. I’m good enough not to crash under normal circumstances, but I could always be better,” he agrees. 

Kylo swallows visibly, fighting down his fear. “I can see about getting some VR gear in for sim training.” 

His fiancé is warming slowly to the idea, probably because Han won’t be involved. Hux reaches over to squeeze encouragingly at his knee.

“And I can probably give you some blaster lessons. You know, the non-Force assisted ones,” Hux adds. “In case you need to rely on eyeballing it like the rest of us.”

“I’m beginning to feel rather redundant,” Kylo sighs. 

“Don’t, you’re far too pretty to ever be useless.”

That gets him whacked. It’s still worth it.

***

That night, the newscast confirms what everyone’s been dreading. The Invaders have lifted from the first five worlds, and set off spin-ward around the outside of the galaxy. The population had already depleted itself where possible, and the first sign of alien mobility has everyone else fleeing Core-wards again. 

Which won’t work forever. Eventually, there will be nowhere left to run.

There’s more urgent strategy meetings, but now that they’ve joined forces with the Republic, they aren’t invited.

Hux, Kylo and Rey watch the holoscreen with increasing distress, and Hux nearly screams when the door opens and C-3PO waddles in.

“Masters, Mistress, I hope I am not intruding, it is just… I have an urgent transmission, and Princess Leia is not around to receive it.”

“Who is it, Threepio?” Kylo asks, automatically filling the void.

“It is Lieutenant Mitaka. May I patch him through?”

“Please.”

Hux sits forwards, and wonders how much of them Mitaka can see. Possibly the whole living area. 

The man looks distressed, and his eyes rake over the room. “Where is General Organa?”

“She is in a meeting with the Republic forces,” Kylo replies. “Threepio came to us as she’s not contactable.”

“I see. Do you have authority to act on her behalf, and on behalf of the Republic?”

Hux isn’t entirely sure Kylo _does_ , but he thinks the man’s mother will back him retrospectively all the same. 

“I do.”

“We had a Star Destroyer between… well. Where they were, and where they went. We no longer _have_ that Star Destroyer. I believe your intelligence to be correct, and I… would like to negotiate a working truce whilst this state of emergency is in play.”

“Do you have the authority to do that for the whole Order?”

“I… am the ranking officer,” he admits. “We sustained significant losses. My forces are depleted, but we cannot risk this, much as you can’t. And if we’re both right in our threat analysis, you need all the help you can get.”

Hux tries not to whistle through his teeth at that statement. That’s a significant drop in upper echelons. Really significant. No Generals at all? No one above Lieutenant?

“We’ll keep trying to contact her. In the meantime… would you be amenable to meeting face to face? We’re on Hosnian Prime. It might be easier to discuss this in person,” Kylo suggests. 

“If you won’t shoot us out of the air…”

“I’ll make sure no one shoots you,” the Knight assures him. “You give me the ETA and handshake and I’ll make the relevant authorities know to expect you.”

“Okay. What about Nazia?”

She’s still on D’Qar. They didn’t bring her with them, yet. Hux fights a little voice of paranoia at the question and the likely next steps. This is what they _wanted_. He shouldn’t feel like anything bad is about to happen, it’s just his personal dislike of this man speaking. That, and nothing more. (Probably.)

“I’ll make sure she’s here, too,” Kylo replies. “So you can see we have not mistreated her.”

“Then I’ll be in touch,” Mitaka signs off. 

Which. Is probably a really good sign? Kylo turns, and Hux sees the sudden wash of worry over his features. 

“Tell me everyone thinks I made the right call? I can’t… get a read other than his face and voice.”

“He seemed very genuinely shaken,” Hux agrees. “Plus, it’s what your mother wanted from the last negotiation. I really don’t think he’d be stupid enough to use this as a way to get close to the system for an all-out attack on us. It’s just not tactically sound.” And Kylo said Mitaka was a pragmatist at heart.

“The fear in his voice was real,” Rey agrees. “I think he was telling the truth about the ship he lost. I think you did the right thing, too.”

“Now we have to tell my mother.”

***

Kylo needn’t have worried. When she finally gets home, hours later, she grabs her son in a huge hug, and praises his negotiating skills. Then – not one to leave the others out – she offers and gives hugs to both Hux and Rey. Hux even enjoys it.

She looks tired, and Hux can understand why. Hosnian Prime’s day (here) doesn’t align entirely with where they’d been on D’Qar. It’s been a really long day-wake-cycle when they all turn in. 

The bed is still that weird, unused flatness with odd noises and no real character. Starchy sheets, too-fluffy pillows. While Kylo finishes in the ‘fresher, Hux bounces his ass up and down on the bed experimentally. The pranging sounds are odd as all hell, and yes, he’s being cranky about something ridiculous, but he’d gotten the last bed just right. (Since Kylo joined him in it, anyway.)

“Shall I leave the side light on?” Kylo asks. “Or do you want it pitch?”

“A little light. Just because I won’t know where to go if I wake up and need a piss.”

Kylo nods, and then slides under the covers on his side. Hux is still sitting propped up, so when hands start to peel away his shirt, he smiles and allows it. Even when the kisses to his hip are sort of tickly, and then there’s a Kylo lying over his legs, pinning them down, as he snuffles his face below the loose fabric of his nightshirt. 

“You sure no one will hear us?” Hux hisses, as nips and licks over his belly make his body jolt to life.

“Do you want me to knock on Rey’s door and ask her to listen for us?”

“No!”

“Then…? We can’t hear her walking about, and unless you scream at the top of your lungs… this _is_ a fancy apartment, you know.”

“I just…” Hux tries to not think about it. And then tries not to think about the other occupants of the extended suite, and what they might—

“Hey!”

“I just thought—“

“I _heard_ that. Please do not think about my parents when I am attempting to give you a blowjob, Hux.”

“It’s not my fault!”

“This is not encouraging me to continue to please you.”

“…would you like me to… uhm…” He’s trying to think of sexy thoughts, but mostly his mind keeps wandering back to things that are anything but. He’s in the middle of wrestling weird flashes of absolutely non-sequitur images when Kylo gets bored of waiting and starts licking over his abdomen. 

He’s still lying over Hux’s legs, which means there will eventually be pins and needles, but for now there’s soft hair and full lips that suck and pull at his half-bared skin. Hux focuses on that, groaning as the licks get firmer. 

Kylo _does_ have a very nice mouth. Huge tongue, plump lips, and wicked teeth. He particularly likes to suck and nibble at said mouth, but he’s not averse to having it apply itself to him, either. Especially not when it starts by lapping around his navel, whilst fingers tug his nightwear lower down. 

“Well, if your mouth is full, _you’ll_ scream a little less,” Hux concedes, and then has to bite his fist because Kylo retaliates by lapping a harsh tongue over his now-free shaft. 

He can _feel_ the smirk, and his other hand goes to the back of his lover’s head, encouraging more of that. Kylo resists, just using his cheek to rub against him, looking cutesy-evil up at him. “And don’t I get to get off, too?”

“I’ll push you face-down into the pillows and eat your ass until you beg for my hand on your dick,” Hux promises.

Kylo’s eyes widen, and suddenly he grabs Hux’s cock and starts to gobble over it with furious greed. His cheeks hollow as he bobs over it with selfish hunger, the noises delicious and gross at once. His pink lips spread, and does he ever look _gorgeous_ like that, ruining his throat on Hux’s dick. 

The sight is almost better than the sensation. A full tongue trying to lap as he sucks and moves, and Hux slams the man’s face over him as fast as he can. He can’t thrust up whilst lying down like this, but he can demand Kylo give him everything he has, and then some. 

“I love seeing you choke on me,” he purrs. “Love the way your throat fights me.”

There’s a reply, but it’s so garbled as to feel more than it sounds. Hux yelps at the hand that scrunches his balls, and the fingers that start to massage his prostate from the outside. He’s a helpless bounce between both poles, and he’d be embarrassed by how quickly he comes if he wasn’t also _very_ eager to return the favour. It’s a bright flash of an orgasm, one that courses through the blood but doesn’t leave him exhausted, and he’s still wound tight like a spring even when the aftershocks are slurped out. 

When Kylo pulls away, he’s still trailing spit coloured pearly from Hux’s climax, the one that still registers in his balls and makes him feel all soft and glowy. Kylo’s mouth is lightly open, his lashes long and doe-like. He seems to almost _float_ , and Hux grabs a handful of hair and demands a kiss.

“Let me taste me on your lips, before I eat you,” Hux growls.

“ _Gladly_ ,” Kylo says, and closes his eyes into the kiss.

The taste of himself is salty and vibrant, and better still are the hiccupy breaths it pulls from Kylo. He wraps his hand around his throat, squeezing the airflow thinner until the pound of his heartrate drowns out the breathy little sounds of Kylo going under. He kisses until he thinks Kylo might almost pass out, then flips them.

The Knight’s hands come up to break his fall, but that’s the only resistance in him. His butt arches from the bed the minute his nose hits the pillow, and his knees part as he wiggles it in offering. 

Hux does wish he was still hard enough to ride that, but he isn’t. Instead, he grabs Kylo’s hands and bends them across his back, behind, trusting his obedience not to need ligatures. Kylo’s moans are muffled by the bedding when Hux’s fingers slip fabric low to bare him, and he parts his cheeks with rough hands, eyeing the dusky stripe between them.

“You ready, Kylo?”

Frantic nodding, and Hux is pretty sure… yep. He’s clenching his hole in an offer of readiness, which means Hux has to kiss it in appreciation. 

Down there, he’s muskier, and the scent of his arousal is so strong that Hux just wants to drown in it. Keeping him spread almost painfully wide, he flattens his tongue to pull firm strokes from balls to the edge of his crack. Over and over, until there’s a long string of begging going right into the bed.

The way Kylo’s body bends and curves below him, the arch of his spine and the hands balling up in tense fists… oh, it’s gorgeous. To be so wanted, so craved. He can’t come again so soon, but he feels like his body does, anyway. A swirl around the dark hole, and then he spears inside to fuck him as roughly as he can. He can’t get as deep as his cock can, but he can pulse and squirm and wriggle, can bend and spit and draw circles around the very inside of his rim. Kylo’s blissed out beyond measure, sobbing and thrusting his cock into thin air. He’s far too arched to reach the bed, and his hands are pressed where Hux put them.

“Please… please, Hux. Please. Let me come. Please let me come.” His begging voice is reedy, his brow a jumble of wires in a box.

Hux lets go of his cheeks, one hand moving between his thighs to his free-roaming dick, the other pushing a finger inside with his tongue. A few fierce, twisting tugs and Kylo’s face goes all the way into the pillows, howling out his satisfaction. The sound is like a balm and a fire combined, and Hux can’t even collect all the dribbly mess before Kylo drops into it, crushing his hand into the mattress. He’s juddering, hard, and Hux lifts his head to rest his chin on one butt-cheek.

“You okay there?”

“Gnnnfh.”

“You gonna let me go brush my teeth?”

Kylo snorts, and stays where he’s lying. Hux smiles, licks one more time, and slaps Kylo’s ass to wobbling. He knows he’s going to want cuddles when he’s back, but Hux has to go wash his mouth out before he can face sleep. 

He brings back a washcloth, using one side on Kylo’s ass, and then making him roll long enough to wipe over his front. Kylo makes grabby hand gestures, and doesn’t stop until Hux climbs in to snuggle up behind him.

“I do love you,” Kylo slurs at him, pulling Hux’s arm around his waist. “You know that, right?”

“I did get the idea a while back. Not sure how.”

“Mmmhmmm…”

Kylo is barely awake. Hux bends his knees slightly into the gap behind his lover’s, and pushes his nose into his nape. 

“Go to sleep, Kylo. I’m here. I’m right here.” Even if the bed squeaks. It’ll break in. They always do.


	58. Chapter 58

Nazia looks surprised. “You… really are letting me go?”

“As long as you abide by the terms of the agreement, yes.”

“But…”

Hux knows what the Order was like. The _First_ Order, and also the Order of Ren. It’s no surprise she’s confused by clemency and compassion. “You do realise you’ve got a second chance?”

“I’m no filthy Jedi,” she snaps.

“You don’t need to be,” Kylo reminds her. “I still use the Dark, but I also use the Light. And I… do what I think is right.”

“But what do I _do_?”

“You could join the fight,” Kylo prompts her. “With an Order group, or you could fight alongside me, and Rey, and Luke.”

“ _Luke Skywalker_.” It’s a curse on her lips, a disgusting and dirty thing. 

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t he want to—?“

“Don’t I want to what?” Luke asks, entering at last. “You’re Nazia, I presume?”

Hux watches as her face explodes into confusion. This must be even harder on her that it had been for him. She’s been his sworn enemy for years, and now he’s here, offering…

“You’re a _Jedi_.” Again, she uses the word as the filthiest of insults. 

“And fighting one another for so long has gotten us nothing but death. Nazia: I do not claim to know all of the Force, but I know that my nephew here is Dark, and I still love him.”

“But the Jedi…”

“The Jedi and the Sith – which your Master was not – were at war because of intolerance. But like the Republic and the Order, we are stronger if we can find some way to work together. I’m prepared to try if you are.”

“What’s the catch?” Nazia’s eyes sharpen.

“Well, I’d prefer you only harmed in self defence, or to protect others. But as to how you access the Force is your decision,” Luke replies. “It’s the dogged and harmful denial of our status as emotional creatures which has caused so much pain. We _do_ feel. We feel love, and we feel all things.”

She turns away from the august Jedi Master to look to her old Master. “Kylo? Tell me honestly… is this real?”

Kylo unfastens her binders, releasing the dampening placed on her. “Read my mind. You’ll see it’s true. You have the Force, and your freedom. You can fight with us, or you can make a life for yourself. You’ll need to see Mitaka, first, but then you can either join us, or wait until you’re ready.”

“He’s – he agreed? To work with you?”

“Yes. We’re all going to fight this thing together,” Hux replies. “He’s due any minute.”

***

Lieutenant Mitaka arrives with the shiny Captain Phasma, and a small troop of traditional, white-armoured Stormtroopers. Hux is actually pleased to see the warmth in Mitaka’s smile when he sees Nazia. She really must have been the friendliest Knight. 

Uncuffed and unfettered, she’s been surprisingly subdued since they announced her freedom. She’s obviously still processing it, unsure of what to make of it all.

“Nazia,” Mitaka greets, first. “Are you well?”

“Yes, thanks to you, it seems.”

“They have treated you well?”

“Better than we treated them, I’m sure.”

The confession – and somewhat apology – is also nice to hear. Hux bites his lip to keep the smile as small as possible.

“Lieutenant, I have a request, if I may?” General Leia Organa says. “If your troops do not object, I would prefer them to be unmasked except for when they are engaged in combat. It is easier to be diplomatic when you can look one another in the eye.”

Mitaka looks to Phasma, who nods. She removes hers first, and puts it on her hip. Below, she’s got short, pale blond hair that’s clearly battle-trimmed. Her features are incredibly striking, and Hux has to drag his eyes away from her. The other soldiers follow suit, and it’s weird seeing the helmet lift to reveal brown hair, black, and skins of all colours. Instead of the uniform (no pun intended) white accented in black, they’re… people again.

Real. Not just targets.

“We’ve got a lot to discuss,” the Lieutenant starts off. “I need to make it clear we’re not going to dissolve into your ranks, and be subsumed within the Republic.”

“But I would like, with everyone’s permission,” Kylo jumps in, “…to lead some integration units.”

“You are not taking control of my men.” Mitaka is alarmed, his spine an exclamation point. 

“Under your supervision,” Kylo says. “And if you decide my leadership is subversive or ineffective, then you can remove me.” 

Mitaka does not look convinced. “You’d report to me?”

“Yes. And I would bring a _small_ number of Republic and Resistance troops, a _minority_. We can benefit from one another’s strengths that way.”

“We would also accept your fighters in our numbers. Not enough to deplete you, before you raise that concern,” Leia offers. “We need to work together, cohesively.”

“This is going to be difficult and sensitive,” Captain Phasma points out. “You have been the enemy to these soldiers.”

“Which is why we need to become friends.” Hux tries to smile reassuringly. “We can’t remain ‘us’ and ‘them’, even if we are going to split once this war is over. We have to all be ‘us’.”

“And the Senate?” Mitaka asks.

“They have appointed me the liaison between all three groups. They are keen to welcome you back into the fold – in whatever guise you are comfortable with.” Leia holds out a tablet. “We have set aside a small set of apartments here on Hosnian Prime, with an attached landing pad. Then you can come and go as you need. We’ve also prepared in case you would like to address the Senate. They’ve agreed both you and I may hold advisory positions with executive powers for our ‘groups’.”

“…the Republic has made me a Senator?”

“Of a sort, yes.”

“A First Order Senator.” Mitaka’s voice is dull and flat, but the blinking in his eyes says he’s baffled, not unhappy.

“If you want a voice in galactic politics… well. Now you have it,” Luke offers. 

“I see. We’ll take those quarters, and I’d like to address the Senate tomorrow to accept.”

“Do you accept my offer, too?” Kylo asks.

“…yes. But Captain Phasma will, in return, be allowed to lead a primarily Republic group.”

Kylo looks to Leia, who nods. “Agreed.”

***

“We just got this place,” Hux complains, without fervour. “And now you want to go _back_ to a Star Destroyer?”

“Not particularly, but it’s the politically right thing to do.”

“…that much is true.”

“What about me?” Rey asks. 

“Do you want to come with us?” Kylo tilts his head. “Or do you want to stay with Luke?”

“…well, there’s also Nazia to think about,” she thinks aloud.

“I think Nazia will want to go back to the Order,” Hux muses. 

“I might stay with Luke, then. Not… to hide from Nazia, but… I think he might need someone?” 

Rey is far too kind, Hux thinks. “He’ll also be able to teach you.”

Kylo’s head falls to one side, his hair slipping with him. “Are you okay staying back?”

She nods. “I think so. You’ll still be on the comm, won’t you?”

“Always.”

***

The next day is spent with Kylo and Leia picking Resistance fighters to go over with them, and then checking through the dossiers of available Republic staff. They pick two of each, and organise the smaller amounts of personal belongings to travel with them. 

The rest of their things go into storage in their small suite, and Hux then wonders if the Order even _has_ any double-occupancy rooms. If not, Mitaka is going to need to organise something. 

They sit aboard the shuttle with Mitaka, minus Captain Phasma and a few of the soldiers left behind. The four new Resistance-Republic recruits look decidedly right ahead of themselves in the shuttle, trying not to make eye-contact. It’s going to make things a little difficult if they won’t mingle and cohere. 

“What are you going to do about uniforms?” Hux asks, because he’s sure everyone’s wondering.

“Well, we’re going to need to think about that. If everyone is in favour, we will keep them. If not, we’ll come to something half way. There won’t be any worn off-duty, but we’ll train as we intend to fight,” Kylo answers.

One of the Republic soldiers wobbles, and Kylo sees it. “Did you have a question?”

“Uhm… can you… see out of them?”

One trooper – the one with the soft, Core-world accent and dark skin – looks up for permission to speak. Mitaka nods. 

“It does restrict your vision a little,” he admits. “But it filters out smoke.”

“And toxins?” the Republic soldier asks.

“No, just smoke. I keep thinking we should ask R&D for that.”

“Thanks. Uhm. I’m Riku. Riku Dasser.”

“FN-2187.”

“Huh?”

“They have assigned numbers,” Mitaka points out. “To identify them.”

“They’re _people_ ,” Riku yelps out, before he realises he’s just sassed what now counts for his superior officer. 

“Well, you could always assign nicknames,” the man suggests. 

“FN… _Finalizer_?” Kylo asks. “I never really paid attention to it, before.”

“That’s how we’re identified, yes,” the Stormtrooper says.

“Do you have a preference what we call you?” Hux asks.

“Uh… I’ve never really thought of it.”

“FN… Finn?” Kylo suggests, his focus on the Stormtrooper. “You look like a Finn.”

“They all begin with FN,” Hux points out. “So  that doesn’t really work as a system.” 

“Maybe so, but he seems like a Finn more than the others.”

“I like it,” says Finn. He’s obviously now not going to be called anything else.

“He can be one of your crew, if you like,” Mitaka offers.

“It would be my honour, Sir,” Finn says, sitting more upright.

“Well, that’s our first recruit.”

***

Hux doesn’t much like First Order decor. It’s grey, uniform, and lifeless. There’s no real way to tell where you are, other than the tiny Aurebesh markings denoting level, corridor, intersection. You have to look and count, and remember your way around. 

It doesn’t help, either, that they’re on a living ship created solely for war. Whilst a Resistance base grew organically around staff and needs, it was true, they had a more homey feel because they blended in with the surrounding flora and fauna. 

Not to mention, Hux’s most recent memories of the Order involve being captured. You know. Twice. And before that, he’d hated it so much he’d run away. 

“Was this a bad idea?” Kylo asks, as they look around their room.

“No, it was a very tactically—“

“I didn’t mean tactics. I meant this place has bad connotations for us both.”

“We need to exorcise those demons, though. Especially if we want to bring these people into the fold. If we want to really rehabilitate their lives…” Hux sits on the bed. It’s nowhere near as plush as their rooms were on Hosnian Prime.

“No high-rise Core world view, I’m afraid.”

“We could put a poster up,” Hux suggests. “Those heights gave me a bit of vertigo, anyway.”

“How do you want to handle the… conflict of interest thing?”

“You mean: me dating you, and you leading the squadron, or whatever you’re going to call your team?”

Kylo nods a confirmation.

“I was thinking on the field of battle, I do whatever the hell you tell me. And maybe stay close to you?” 

“You’re not going to feel awkward? I mean… it’s not going to… be insulting?”

“Kylo, I’ve been in command structures my whole life. Never dated the CO, before, but… we’ll work it out. And you need to treat me as much like the others as you can, alright? But if I charge into battle right by you, then no one can accuse you of favouritism when it comes to assignments.”

“I suppose.” He looks around the drab, grey room. “There’s no soul to it, is there? No… heart. It crushes you. Makes you all the same.”

“It’s how they keep you from running. You have no idea how to survive in the outside world, no sense even of yourself because you’re a number, not a name. It’s a shitty-ass life. The minute you start to think too much, they wipe your damn head clean.”

“The first thing I’m going to do is have them all get a name, even if it’s something ridiculous. And then I’m going to have them train with, and without their uniform. I’m sure _some_ of it is helpful, because it can take some damage, but I don’t think we need to cover them from head to toe. Do you?”

“Personally, I don’t. And by making them get involved, if they get to weigh up the benefits, and feel they have a say in the matter?”

“…then whatever decision will feel like one they own, not one forced on them for the sake of a unity they might not believe in,” Kylo concludes. “Yes, that was my intent.”

“You’re going to be far better at this than I would be. I think I might have just told them all to strip into blacks and throw the damn helmets away.”

Kylo shakes his head. “You wouldn’t. You’ve got just as much sense as I have.”

“Alright, but I didn’t think to volunteer to come lead the first First Order rehabilitation squad.”

Kylo drops onto the bed, and the groan answers the quality of the furniture. Yep. It’s a fixer-upper.

“We’ll pick up posters. Get some sheets that look like they’re ours. Maybe a bit of colour?”

“Don’t go too far,” Hux jokes. “I think Mitaka would have a fit if he walked in and saw a red cushion.”

“Maybe it’s time he did.”


	59. Chapter 59

Riku Dasser and Finn are the first to show up in the morning. The next is the Republic pilot, a young woman with pale hair and almond eyes; and two ground troops, a man who looks barely old enough to tie his own bootlaces, and a man who looks like he’s two days away from being tanned into bootleather himself. The other stormtroopers – seven of them – all still have their masks on when they arrive.

“My name is Kylo… Organa-Solo,” his partner announces, clasping his hands behind his back. “I was once a Knight of Ren, and I was once a member of the First Order.”

That has several people perk up, and fidget a little more. Hux watches with a sick kind of amusement. They’ll have heard of the Knights of Ren, surely. Both sides. Hux isn’t sure if the ones they brought with them truly realised who was going to lead their squadron, but now there’s no question.

Kylo introduces him, too.

“You may have heard of Commandant Hux… I _am_ his son,” he concludes. “I left the Order many years ago, but I’m familiar with the workings, much as Kylo is.”

“We’re here to form the first unit within the Order, so I need you all to remove your helmets and meet one another. I want you to look each other in the eyes, because in my squadron? You’re going to have one another’s backs, and you need to know who it is you’re fighting with.”

Finn nods at the troopers who shuffle anxiously, and Hux can tell he’s got natural leadership techniques. He’s still standing beside Dasser – the point of contact between the two groups who fan out on either side – and the division is all too apparent.

Out of their helmets, the soldiers look even more uncomfortable. Hux bites at his lip, and glances up to Kylo for permission to speak next.

“Now, we know you don’t all have names, but you might have nicknames. We want you to be individuals. Finn, here, already has a name, and we’ll get the others to introduce themselves. If you have one you’re comfortable with, you can use it now. If you don’t have one, or you don’t like what people call you, that’s okay. We’ll find what works for you.”

There’s more worried glances, and Hux wonders how they’re ever going to make decisions for themselves if they can’t even remove helmets or self-identify, yet.

“I’m Finn,” the dark-skinned man says. “And they’re right. We do need names.”

“We’ve never needed them before,” one of them hisses.

“But that was then, and this is now. We need to work with them.”

“But they’re—“ and the man stops, shrinking into himself.

“We’re what?” Kylo pushes. “The enemy?”

No one will look at them.

“We _were_ the enemy. In a minute, I’m going to give you the intel on who the enemy is _now_. But first: I need to make something clear. This is new. This is going to be something neither group has done before. You’re going to need to realise that each side has skills to share, and you’re going to need to do so critically. _Talk_ to us. Question us. Discuss. Debate. When we’re on the battlefield, I’ll expect you to follow my orders without question. But when we’re training? I want them. I want _every_ question, no matter how small, or how… offensive you think it might be.”

“What if we don’t want names?” one of the stormtroopers asks. “What if we like our numbers?”

“Then we come up with a shortened version, and use that as your name,” Kylo answers.

“That’s what we already do, most of the time,” Finn says. “It’s just a way to identify you, but it’s… better.”

“Why is having a name better? You don’t pick them. You get given them.”

“I changed my name,” Kylo points out. “I picked one that felt more like me.”

“Captain Frigeran here goes by Free,” one of the Republic troops says. “And we all shorten our droids’ names.”

“How do we know you won’t get upset by our questions?” Dasser asks.

Hux suspects that’s him asking on behalf of others, as much as himself.

“Questions are never the problem. If you really want to understand – or see someone’s point of view – or think about ways to do something better? You’re doing the right thing,” Kylo replies. “So let’s start. I’m Kylo. You can call me Kylo.”

“You can call _me_ Hux.”

They go around, introducing themselves, and jittering as they do so.

Dasser. Finn. Gardie. Free. Enty. Rouk. Banderten. Sticks. Gunner. Sparks. Boom-boom. Twen. 

An odd collection. Hux is pleased that some of the names seem to trip off the troopers’ tongues. They did have their own, they’d just never shared them with anyone above them in rank and stature. Kylo tells them all to do a physical warm up, and nods Hux off to one side to confer.

“I am going to rectally pass a Star Destroyer,” the Knight hisses. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”

“It is a good idea.”

“They didn’t even want to have _names_ , Hux.”

“They’ve been very, very closeted their whole lives,” he points out. “And they probably think you’re just trying to get them to slip up so you can recondition them.”

“How am I supposed to reach out to them? Both sides think the other is about to _knife_ them.”

“It’s not going to work on the first day,” Hux agrees. 

“We don’t have the luxury of time.”

“Then you’re going to need them to see what we’re up against.”

***

The holo-footage is harrowing. Hux has seen it enough, seen the things the media kept back for reasons of both tactical necessity and sheer discretion. The destruction and devastation is phenomenal, and when the clips are over, there’s figures.

How many ships. How many people. How many inhabitants displaced. How much financial loss. The numbers don’t bear thinking about, and are way too vast for anyone to really understand.

There’s a rumble from one of the Stormtroopers – Twen. 

“Speak up,” Hux says. 

“How do we know this is real?”

“…the fact that your Leader has agreed to this doesn’t fill you with confidence?” Kylo asks.

“Maybe you’ve tricked him. You can do that, can’t you? Force stuff?”

“He can,” comes a voice from the edge of the room, and Nazia Ren strides in. She’s back in black, though under the hood there’s no mask. “But I assure you, he hasn’t.”

They know _of_ her, judging by the rustles around the room. She’s wearing her saber hilt on her hip, and being none too shy about showing it. 

“Lady Ren…” Twen ducks his head, apologetically.

“There is a danger out there. A danger that threatens all our lives. I haven’t always agreed with what the Republic and Resistance fight for, but this? Survival? I agree with that,” she says.

Hux smiles at her, thankful for her voice of support. They hadn’t known if she would even stay with the Order, let alone help them. This is a very, very good sign.

“For those of you who don’t know, this is Nazia Ren,” Hux introduces her. “She was one of the Knights, with Kylo.”

“And unlike Kylo, I never left,” she adds. “So you can see we are in agreement. I wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t being manipulated by him, that’s why I am here.”

Hux feels a sudden surge of certainty, and he grabs Kylo’s hand. They’re going to manage this, hard as it is. It’s going to work.

***

Back in their room that night, Kylo sits cross-legged under the covers. “The food is still as bad as I remember.”

“It’s not _all_ that much better with the Resistance.”

“True, but they do at least attempt a wider variety of flavours.”

“Most of which are some variant on ‘fish’.” Hux is fine with fish, in theory. But not every single day. ‘Fishy’, ‘bricky’, ‘goopy’ and ‘lumpy’ are all days of the week, according to the mess hall. 

Hux pulls the covers up, and pushes his nose into Kylo’s neck. 

“Did you think it went okay?”

“I told you already.”

“I know, but did you _really_ think it, or—“

Hux snorts, and leaps into action. If Kylo’s stuck in an endless loop of worrying, the only way to really get him out of it is to distract him properly. He grabs hold of his shoulders, leaping onto his lap, and grabs at his lips with his own. 

“Mnnnf!”

That’s the excuse to shove his tongue inside Kylo’s mouth, and start grinding on his groin. The parted lips allow his tongue to fuck inside, and he thinks as loudly as he can. _Kylo. Kylo. Kylo_.

Nope. Didn’t work. He grabs his long hair, tugging it back, and gazes down at him. “You weren’t listening.”

“You were kissing me.”

“You should still listen to me.”

“Well… sorry!” Kylo laughs. “I’m listening now.”

“I want you…” And then he thinks as much white noise as he can. Just. Songs. Static. Anything but what he was going to think.

Kylo’s hands go to his sides, and start to tickle him. 

“CHEATER.”

“I’m just trying to get you to open up to me… come on. I’m an interrogator. You’ll crack for me…”

Hux bites his shoulder to hide his amusement, and then starts to bounce his weight up and down. _This_.

 _This?_ Kylo thinks back, and throws a torrent of images of Hux’s hole spread wide on his very nice dick.

 _Get the hell on with it_.

“Told you I’d break you,” Kylo proclaims, tossing his hair proudly and holding his hand out to tug open the bedside cabinet. The lube follows, and Hux rolls his eyes.

“Do it properly. I want to be fucked so hard I forget what my legs are for.”

Kylo opens up the lube, and Hux wraps his legs tightly around his waist, using the arms on his shoulders to arch up. He nips and nibbles at Kylo’s throat, even if it’s going to mark. Kylo has high-necked shirts, still, which is a good thing.

A very good thing.

The finger sliding around his hole is firm, warm, and not enough. Hux rubs into it, and goes back to pulling Kylo’s head back by the hair. His lover’s throat is oh so tempting, and he licks at the line of his jaw, moving his tongue to swirl around his full lips as the finger eases around his puckered hole. As it starts the inevitable plunge inside, he dips his tongue in at the same speed. Slow, and not nearly wide enough.

 _Faster, Kylo_.

_I’ll go at my own speed._

_You fucking won’t_.

Hux tries to push down, but Kylo’s suddenly frozen him in place, and he can’t. _HEY._

Kylo turns away from the kiss, smirking. “I told you I break men.”

“Break me on your damn dick, or so help me—“

Two fingers, going so slow, so delicately, that Hux is sure time’s no longer even real. The aching in his balls is murder, and he wants that cock inside him, okay? He can’t kiss, can only breathe, and talk, and want. 

“In due course.”

“Kylo, please!”

“Are you broken, yet?”

“You’re an asshole,” Hux complains, as the third finger slips inside. It’s a delicious hell, and he knows Kylo _would_ stop if he wasn’t enjoying it, which is why it’s so enjoyable. His pleasure taken out of his control, and given to him, by degrees. Harder, those fingers work, and he sighs in delight. 

“And now?”

“If I say ‘yes’, will you fuck me?”

“Only if you mean it.”

Little piece of almost-Sith shit. Hux feels the brush against his prostate, and he nearly screams in frustration. “Kylo, would you _please_ be so kind as to put your very nice cock inside me, before I am forced to call you names you should never hear?”

“What sort of names?”

“ _Fuck me, if you want to ever get your dick sucked again_.”

Threats seem to work, because then Hux feels the fingers leave and the press of Kylo’s cockhead to his entrance. He still can’t move – not until he’s pushed all the way down onto the welcoming intrusion – and all he can do is feel every last bump and stretch and push. It’s wonderful, and his mouth goes dry at the rightness of it. When Kylo is balls-deep in him, he lets Hux move again.

Which means he’s _moving_. Keeping their thighs together, he rocks his hips and swirls tight figure-eights, getting a good stretch out of it before he starts his ride. It lights up all the sparks inside of him, and he moans appreciatively as Kylo’s lips find his throat to suckle hard.

(He’s going to need a high-necked shirt, too.) 

Hux’s fingers move to properly support himself as he starts to bounce his weight up and down, grunting in pure animal satisfaction at the tug to his entrance. Yes, oh yes. Hands grab his hips, and he’s helped along in his bouncing, his cock sliding over Kylo’s lovely chest as they urge each other higher. 

“Hux… Hux… oh _Force_ but you feel good. Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

The adoring nonsense just makes his body sing louder, and Hux tries to tense around the cock inside of him, giving Kylo what he hopes is the ride of his life. It’s certainly good for him, and his ankles dig into Kylo’s back as he pounds himself mercilessly.

“Want to feel you come in me,” he answers. “Want to feel you make me so sticky it runs down my thighs. Want to – _oh shit yes_ – want to feel you, Kylo.”

There’s no hand on his dick, not yet, but Hux is getting close. He wants to stroke his shaft, but he’s far too busy bouncing and angling himself for the deepest strokes to do that. The sudden Force-grip around his dick is _heavenly_ , and he’s seeing stars by the moment. 

“Gonna… gonna come, Hux… gonna…”

“G-get me there,” he begs. “Want to come with you.”

“I’m… **FUCK** , fuck fuck fuck FUCK **FUCK**.”

The profanity is accompanied by a sudden mental intrusion that Hux wouldn’t fight off for the world. He can feel precisely what Kylo feels, can sense his own ass around Kylo’s cock, or his, or… it’s just a mess of fuck-be-fucked and he doesn’t care any which way, because there’s a splash inside of him, and a hurtling bliss in the unreal hand on his dick. He’s coming, and he’s biting Kylo’s neck savagely, the pain just cutting the pleasure even higher, making his body sing with the bliss of it. Shit. Shit yes. It’s beyond words, and he’s a slack-jawed, whimpering mess.

There’s long moments like that, resting on the sticky cock that softens inside of him. Semen splattering their bellies, pasting them together. Hux purrs, nuzzling his neck, thankful for the mind curled up against his. He slumps over Kylo’s chest, and kisses where he’s been biting.

“Don’t ever change,” Hux mumbles.

“I don’t intend to,” Kylo replies. 


	60. Chapter 60

“Three days isn’t enough time,” Kylo complains. “Four days ago, two thirds of them didn’t have _names_.”

“No, but that’s war, Kylo.”

“Names, Hux! That’s pretty damn important, if you ask me!”

“Maybe they didn’t have names, but they were still people.”

“People who didn’t have a choice if they fought or not. And now we’re demanding they fight again. How are we any better?”

“…you do realise if you offered them the chance to not-fight, most of them wouldn’t understand the concept? They’ve been left to soak in pre-war for so long that they don’t even understand the world out there,” Hux reasons, as levelly as he can.

“I’m asking them to fight for the Republic.”

“You’re asking them to fight for their _lives_.” The distinction, Hux feels, is important. “When we’re all safe, you can offer them freedom and democracy, but right now?”

“Hux, how does that make us _any_ better than the Order?”

“If we send them to battle? How is it any worse than if you happen to live on a world where the Invaders turn up?”

“They can always _run_.”

“So can these troopers. In theory.” In theory. Okay. “Well… it’s your choice. You want to give them the launch code to a shuttle and let all our groundwork go… you can.”

“It’s… Hux it’s… you _know_ why this matters. Don’t you?”

“Yes. But you can’t just walk onto a Star Destroyer, explain free will, stand back and expect that to fix everything.”

“Then… what?”

“Show them. Don’t tell them… let them see. Show them your style of leadership, let them see the standard of living on offer, and make them fight for it because they believe in it.”

“How is that any different from conditioning them?”

Fuck. Hux pinches his nose. “Any time you change someone’s mind, you’re… probably conditioning them to some extent. But you’ll be conditioning them to the value of _choices_. Even if they choose to remain here, under this regime… then at least it _was_ their decision. We’re not going to force anyone to defect.”

Kylo grabs his hand. “You’re the one who should lead them.”

“No… I’m happy being the strategic backbone. _You_ do the charisma, and I’ll help you think.”

“Are they even ready? We only just decided to wear everything but helmets. They’re hardly a cohesive unit…”

“Kylo, we don’t have the luxury of time. Plus, you and I both know that battle hardens people. It makes or breaks a unit. A week longer wouldn’t turn a non-unit into a unit.”

“I suppose not. I just… I want this to work. So badly. I want it to work.”

“So do I.”

***

Nazia turns up that night, the night before they’re due to deploy. Hux isn’t surprised when she turns up, but he is pleased. “Would you like to come in?”

She nods, and brushes past him. He wonders if her brusque attitude is born of her Knightly status, or if she’s just feeling edgy. After all, until recently she was _also_ one of their prisoners. 

“Where’s your husband?”

“He’s finalising our flight plan. He should be back soon, or I could call him?”

“I’ll wait.”

Nazia perches on one of the chairs by the table, swinging her legs. Hux tries not to think too much of Rey when he sees her, and wonder how his adoptive sister would have fared had Snoke found her. It is an uncomfortable train of thought, and one that should never leave the station.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Hux asks.

“I want to know what it’s like. Not having the Force.”

“…I assume you mean around those creatures, not how a non-Force-sensitive feels?”

“Both.”

“Because you’re considering coming with us?”

She shrugs, and rubs a finger over the table, the sound streaking through the air. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You’d be welcome to,” he says, and wonders why he’s now Force counsellor. Hux pulls out another chair, sitting at right-angles to her. 

“Don’t really have much else to do. Now there’s… you know.”

He does know. He was there, when Snoke was killed. She’s floundering without guidance, or goal, and a threat to her whole way of life. Of course she’s worried.

“Kylo was under restraint for a while, as were you. It feels like that. You know what we _can’t_ do.”

“Yes, I know, but… I guess I want to know how you _do_ do things?”

“Through training, or being very gifted. Most of us have to work on our marksmanship, and a lot of it is just… muddling through?”

“How did Kylo take it, when… you were around the Invaders?”

“We didn’t know if the Force was gone for good, whilst there, or just for them. Mostly he was terrified he’d lost it forever, and it wasn’t until we got away that he calmed down. But he’s prepared to go back, so does that answer your other question?”

She fusses at her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “I think so. He used to be my Master, you know.” Her eyes flick up to his.

“Yes. I know.”

“I would have followed _him_ almost anywhere.”

“Not… Snoke?”

“I surrendered, didn’t I?” she asks, with the tiniest flicker of a smile. 

“You did. And I’m glad. We need… to save as many people as we can.” He’s aware he’s treading on thin ice, now. ‘Saved’. She might not think of herself as that. “The Leader was using you all.”

“I think we all knew that.”

“You stayed because there was no alternative?”

“No viable one. I – I _am_ loyal to the Order of Ren. I _will_ always be loyal to my heart, and not to… not to Jedi heart-death. But… the Order wasn’t only Snoke.”

Hux suddenly wonders… “Did things get harder, when Kylo was captured?”

“They didn’t get easier,” she replies, in a tone that says so much more.

How much did Kylo shield them, he wonders? He’s about to ask more when the door opens. Kylo looks between them, and brushes a question against Hux’s mind.

It’s hard to hide the ripple of pleasure that the contact brings, and he flusters a bit at them not being in private right now. 

“Nazia came to ask about our mission,” Hux opens.

“I’d like to come.” She just puts her cards out on the table, pure and simple. “If it’s bad enough to get you to come back here… then I believe it’s bad enough to fight. Plus… you need me.”

“I do need you,” Kylo confirms, putting a hand on the back of Hux’s chair. “And your assistance will be _very_ gratefully accepted. You do know that—?”

“I know I won’t have the Force, but I will have it the rest of the time. And I’ll need them to fuck off and die if I want to keep it, right?”

“That’s the general consensus.”

“Put me down for a seat in the cockpit, then. Or wherever you want me.” She pushes her chair back, and stands. “Master.”

“Nazia,” he replies, though his tone sounds a little… odd. 

She leaves, and Hux peers up. “You okay?”

“Yes. I just… I thought I’d lost her. She was always so bright, so vibrant… One of the few things that kept me sane, here. My Knights… some of them, like Ithon, were constantly out to stab me in the back. But Nazia… she was always too kind.”

“You protected her, didn’t you? From Snoke.”

“Someone had to.” Kylo walks further into the room, dropping onto the couch.

Hux turns his chair a little around. “She does want to build bridges between you. She said it was… the Order, and not Snoke, that she was loyal to.”

“I know. I – well. When I would let myself fantasise about running away? I knew who would follow, and who would not. I hoped more would survive… and I… I left them. I left _her_.”

“To be fair, to begin with, you _were_ a prisoner.”

“But then I wasn’t!”

“…no.”

“Should I have tried sooner? Tried to get them free?”

“Kylo, you _can’t_ second guess the past. What’s done is done. You saved _her_. Or… she’s still here _to_ be saved. You have Rey. You have me.”

“Shame I can’t train you,” Kylo jokes, lightly. “It would be useful if I could.”

“I’d be a terrible Jedi.”

“You’d be a better Jedi than I ever was,” Kylo corrects him. “You’ve got a temper, but you control yours.”

Hux gets up, walking over to him. “If I was a Jedi, I might not be interested in you. Sexually, I mean.”

There’s a little growl and he’s pulled across the floor, his feet skittering as he’s dragged into Kylo’s lap. “You’d be interested in me, alright. You might _resist_ , at first…”

“So… you’d seduce me?”

“Mhm.” Kylo wraps his arms around Hux’s waist. “I’d seduce you. Show you the power of the Dark Side.”

“And if I just… wanted the Dark Side in bed?”

“That could be arranged.”

***

They’re amassed. Everyone’s here, and Kylo’s fretted up and down about fifty times. 

“Everyone know the protocol?”

“Sir, we know it,” Finn replies. “Rendezvous with the main fleet, acquire co-ordinates, sneak in and grab intel and only skirmish if low enough numbers to escape.”

“Our weapons do minimal damage at the moment. We need to find some other way to disable one of them,” Nazia points out. “Or how are we going to ever defeat them?”

“I’m hoping we can pull stragglers away from the main fleet with a harrying technique. Worry the edges, lure them away, and—“ Kylo pauses.

“What?” Hux asks.

“He’s had an idea,” Nazia says. “That’s his idea face.”

“It’s probably… really, really stupid,” Kylo begins, his speech going slow.

“But?” Hux prompts.

“We need to get one away from the main fleet, right?”

“Are his ideas normally bad?” Finn asks.

“You know him as well as we do,” Dasser shrugs.

“Just… bear with me, okay? We need to know… we need to know what kind of creature they are, if we can reason with them, and what their physiology is like if we need to kill them. We also need to know if the Force-dampening effect is them, their crafts, or a weapon. The radius, and the strength. We need to know what their ships are made of, and how to destroy them.”

These points are all true, Hux knows. “And your solution for this is?”

“Get a big enough ship, with an open hangar. Fly it in, co-ordinated with fighters. Flush one of the Invaders’ ships away, to a pre-determined location… then jump in, swoop down on it, lock it inside, and jump away from the skirmish.”

For a minute, no one speaks. It’s the kind of hilariously over the top sort of plan you don’t come up with, not unless you’re related to the Skywalker-Organa-Solo line, or similar ilk. 

“How would we… but surely it would just shoot up the inside of whatever ship we took it in?” Dasser asks.

“Yes,” Kylo nods. “So it would be a big cargo vessel. A shell. Something designed to take a hammering, and keep the cockpit far away. I’m not saying it would be easy, but we’d have a captive to experiment upon.”

“Who… would even be able to fly that well?” Hux asks.

“You know who I want,” Kylo replies.

“You think Poe’s up for this?”

“You kidding? This has Poe Dameron _all over it_.”

Well, then.

“But he’d be one of the dog-fighters. Not the cargo ship,” Kylo corrects him. “That’s my father, and Rey.”

Ah, yes. Because they clearly don’t lack for crazy stunt-pilots, do they?


	61. Chapter 61

Hux, Kylo and Nazia stand in the cargo bay of the junker Han found for their plan. Han, Chewie and Rey have done a fine job of it, at such short notice, Hux has to admit. There’s reinforced deckplating welded to every surface, and it’s twice the size of the smallest of the Invaders’ ships. Plenty of space (hah) to funnel one in.

“Luke and Poe are ready with the other pilots you rustled up,” Han says. “Don’t know how you managed to get so many Imps to sign up for this damn fool plan of yours, kiddo.”

“They’re not Imperials,” Nazia points out. “They’re First Order.”

“Still wearing stormtrooper armour, makes ‘em Imps in my book,” Han huffs. “Still an Imp even without an Empire.”

Before Nazia can say anything, Hux cuts in with: “Well, you _were_ one yourself, so you should know…”

Han’s mouth opens, then clicks shut. A finger lifts, wagging at him, and then Han shakes his head and turns away.

“He was?” Nazia whispers.

“Until he saved Chewie, yes,” Kylo replies. “Uncle Luke wanted to sign up, too.”

“…why didn’t I know that?”

“Because it would look bad for both sides, if spun the wrong way,” Hux answers her. He can see cogs whirring behind her eyes at what this implies.

Chewie roars that he’s glad Han was an Imperial soldier, because now he’s alive. Rey grins, and translates for Nazia. 

Before they can discuss it further, Han’s voice comes over the intercom. “Alright you reprobrates, we’re about to punch it. So everyone in their places.”

The Wookie nods, and ducks out to go help, growling for Rey to go with him. They’re best up in the cockpit, doing the difficult needle-threading, whilst the other three withdraw to the other side of the reinforced bulkheads. There’s holo-surveillance of the whole cargo bay, and when the door opens into the vacuum, it’s going to be inhospitable, even without the weapons fire of the ship they’re about to abduct.

“You think Dasser and Finn will be okay with Luke and Poe?” Hux asks.

“I think the Resistance and Rebellion troops will be _very_ okay with Luke, and reasonably okay with Poe… but Finn? He’s a natural leader, and he’s obviously keen to progress and evolve the team,” Kylo answers, as they shut the blast door and get ready to open up the cargo bay when they exit hyperspace. 

Nazia doesn’t speak, but her hand keeps going to her saber and back. Hux realises she’s preparing for the loss of the Force, and wonders how she’ll handle it when the jump finishes. They don’t have long to think about it, though, because there’s a holler over the intercom, and then the lurch as normal space is resumed. 

Kylo slams the door release, opening up the cargo bay, as the freighter co-ordinates with the star-fighters, and through the tiny glimpse on the holo-screen out through the open doors indicates, they’re just on the edge of the skirmish. Green and red weapons fire cuts against a whitish-yellow one from the Invaders, so close, but just beyond what…

“Oh,” Nazia says, grabbing for the wall. 

“It’ll pass,” Kylo reassures her. “Just keep strong.”

“It’s so cold. So cold and dark…”

Hux wonders if it feels like losing a sense, if it feels like true deafness or blindness after a lifetime of knowing either. He tries to imagine a completely silent world, or one where he could no longer feel touch, but his head just stops him before he gets that far. It’s as if his mind and body collaborate to keep him safe, even from the hypothetical.

“GOT IT,” Han’s voice comes, and then there’s the enemy ship right in front of the bay. 

The freighter lurches forwards, and Kylo waits until their prey is completely inside before smacking his hand on the bay door button, closing it around the aft of the Invader ship.

“Punch it,” Hux yells into their own comm unit, as the clunky freighter lurches to dodge incoming fire, and the starfighters all move to cover and shield them. 

Down here, there’s not much to do _but_ watch, and once the ship starts moving again, they’re all peeled to the holo.

Inside, there’s the craft. It’s about the length of two X-Wings, with a stretched-out body shaped like a lozenge, and the wings are almost organic: a central shaft that angles out from the body, and then a webbing-like stretch of multi-pinioned inner struts, latticed with a collapsing material. The wings are avian, and currently beating like mad around the inside of the cargo bay. Hux has seen them move in any and every direction when reviewing the surveillance, but it doesn’t really capture how _alive_ they seem. The movement makes it hard to get a real look at the craft’s core, but there’s no obvious viewscreen or transparisteel out onto the galaxy. 

The weapons discharge seems to come from multiple apertures that don’t move, but all have a set arc of fire. Pulses flare out, killing a few holo-cams, and making the walls run with hot metal. The ship batters back and forth at the closed doors, the thumping and shrieking evident even through the padding.

“It’s weird,” Nazia says, staring at the blue image. “Where do the pilot and crew sit?”

“We don’t even know what the aliens _look_ like, out of their ships,” Kylo replies. “By the time they’re disembarking, every satellite and other transmission has been choked from the planets they’ve taken.”

“Can you feel the Force, yet?”

“It feels… distant, but there,” Kylo confirms. “Which makes me think it’s maybe a group effort, like… they don’t have a strong enough blocker alone, but when there’s enough of them – either technology or beings – is when the blanket block comes into play.”

“I’d agree,” Nazia says, looking a little less pale. “But how are we going to negotiate with _that_? It hasn’t stopped shooting.”

“We’re going to have to try.”

***

Thankfully, every one of their joint task force manages to jump their ship away from the skirmish, and calls in as on standby around the cargo ship, ready to shoot the craft if it tries to blast its way out the back of the freighter.  

The cockpit crew stay up ready to dump the rear section of the ship if need be, and Hux holds his (probably useless) blaster as Kylo and Nazia prepare to open up the door.

He isn’t even thinking about how big this is; or he is, and he isn’t. No one’s been this close to one and lived (even if they aren’t sure yet that they will) and Hux… stares uncomfortably at the holo-screen as the two Knights-of-not-really-Ren advance, sabers drawn and humming by their sides.

The ship’s yellow-white cannon fire at them, but the pair deflect the bolts. Kylo does so with more ease than Nazia, but he also stands a little further forwards to take the worst of the flak. The ship is still ‘airborne’, or at least not touching the deckplates, and it edges a little towards them, but Kylo holds a hand up.

Hux doesn’t know if Kylo is literally restraining the craft with the Force, or if he’s just ordering it by a gesture. Either way, it stops trying to charge, and the wings on the sides whir like a bird struggling to hover in one place. 

“Can you… sense… lifeforms?” Hux asks, yelling so he can be heard.

“It’s still a gap, just a fuzzy one,” Kylo replies. 

The ship reverses, ramming its aft into the closed cargo bay doors, the weapons only shooting in that direction. Hux wonders why it’s suddenly defensive and intent on escaping instead of killing its captors, but it is.

The sensors and scans in the room are producing a huge amount of data, all the same. At Rey’s suggestion, it’s being shared between all the craft in their little squadron, in case they lose any one ship and need to keep the data from being lost with it. Multiple redundancies. Perfect. Hux can see the alloy of the craft is something not known to this galaxy, and the shields (or other way of deflecting energy and ion weapons) are also powered by some other method. Hux isn’t enough of an engineer to interpret the data they’re mining, but he’s sure someone will. 

“I’m trying to connect with them,” Kylo says, his voice… pulled at the edges. His left hand is still lifted, his right down and to one side, holding his lit saber ready. “It’s… complicated. No… language so it’s… emotions only, but… through… smoke…”

“They’re very angry,” Nazia adds, which makes complete sense. “But not afraid.”

“No, no fear,” Kylo agrees. “I’m—“

There’s a terrible moment when Hux can see it about to happen, and then Kylo crumples, his saber dropped and his hands on his head. He’s screaming, and Nazia grabs hold of him under one arm, trying to drag him backwards.

“Kylo!” Hux doesn’t care if it’s dangerous, he runs in, too, grabbing Kylo’s saber and turning it off as he helps pull him back from the room, under his other arm.

His fiancé’s face is a rictus of pain, his fingers trying to claw at his skin and hair. Hux tries to wrestle them away so he doesn’t damage himself, but Kylo is much stronger and determined, and he’s scratching himself bloody.

“Nazia, help me, please!”

She slams the door shut, even though the craft isn’t firing at them. Hux wraps two arms around one of Kylo’s, using his weight to try pin him down. Nazia’s right alongside him, wrestling the other arm as they try to subdue him.

“What’s going on?” Han’s voice yells.

“Send Rey! And Chewie!” Hux yells back.

The Wookie runs in first, roaring at them to get off Kylo. Hux does reluctantly, and then Chewie lifts Kylo and pins his arms to his sides. He’s tall enough to heft the man’s feet from the ground, and then Rey and Nazia both look to be concentrating intently. Kylo’s head jerks like he’s having a fit, his eyes rolled up and his mouth foaming slightly.

“Is he okay?” Hux asks, fighting the shriek in his voice. “Can you get through to him?”

“I’m trying,” Rey snaps back, one hand lifted like Nazia. “His mind’s screaming.”

“It’s not just him,” the other woman says. “It’s the ship. The aliens. Whatever they are, they’re howling. It’s…”

“Open the cargo door!” Hux yells. “Let it out. Get the TIEs and X-Wings to shoot the ship to pieces if they can. We need to get it off the freighter.”

“You sure about that?” Han asks.

“Do it!” Rey yells back. 

The back door flops open, and the ship careens out, right into waiting red and green weapons discharge. Hux doesn’t pay it much attention, too worried by Kylo’s fit to even care.


	62. Chapter 62

Kylo stops thrashing quite so badly when the ship escapes, but his eyes are closed and his body slack. Hux cradles his head, kneeling below him, keeping his airway clear and his fingers near his throat to feel for the thud of his heart. 

Chewbacca is howling in such a state that Hux can barely make anything out of the words. He might well still be speaking Shyriiwook, but the anguish blends in so deeply that Hux can’t pick out the start and end of words. It’s just a constant note of distress, a backbeat like a bassline turned too high. 

“Hux…”

“Can you… reach him?” Hux asks, keeping very careful hold of him so he doesn’t snap his neck or choke on his tongue.

“It’s all… confused. He’s there, but he’s confused.”

“I need… I need him back, Naz.” Hux doesn’t even notice he’s shortened her name, but when she drops to crouch beside him, an arm out to touch him, he feels the slightest hint of comfort.

It’s Han, not Rey, who comes back next. Hux can understand how Han has seniority in this case.

“Who’s gonna tell me what in the kriff happened?” the smuggler-turned-soldier-turned-whatever demands. 

“He was trying to connect with them, and block their attacks, and he just collapsed, Sir.”

Hux _does_ notice the term of respect Nazia offers. If Han does, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Chewie roars.

“I got that much,” Han snaps back at him. “How do we fix him?”

“Get him as far away from the ship we captured as possible,” Hux suggests.

“Not much of a problem. The kids in the air shot it to pieces when we let loose. Turns out a single one of ‘em can’t withstand that kind of firepower.”

Hux wishes he was a nice enough person to feel bad about the alien’s (or aliens’) death, but he’s too worried about the man unconscious in his arms to feel for them. Not right now. 

“Chewie, get him on the table. We’ve got med scanners. I want to make sure we…”

Hux lets the Wookie lift his Knight up, and all he can do is fret.

***

“We have to go back to the _Finalizer_ ,” Hux insists. “This truce is fragile as it is.”

“You think I’m letting those goons keep my son?”

“I’ll be _with_ him,” Hux reminds him. 

“And me,” Nazia adds, her tone a little fierce. 

“You—“

“Go on,” Hux suggests, maybe a little more unkindly than he should. “Remind her how she was just a prisoner. _Like your son was_.”

“He should be with his _family_.” Han folds his arms, pulling himself upright. 

“He is. I’m his family, too.” Why is this even up for debate?  “You can come with us, if you want. Stay and make sure he’s looked after. If those kids out there, those ones who _just_ started to work together, see their commander carried away at the first hurdle? How will they trust us?”

“You want me to go onto an _Imp_ ship.”

This time, it’s Chewbacca who corrects him.

“It’s _still_ the same people! Why do you all not have a problem with this?”

“Because,” Hux says, “…they are _people_. I was one of them, for many years. Your son was. Nazia was. We _know_ they are people, and we can do right by them.”

Han pulls his lip in. Chewie points out the squadron _did_ just work well. And none of them fired on them by mistake.

“…I still think this is a bad idea, you hear me? I want that on record.”

“So you’re coming to the _Finalizer_ with us?”

“Looks like I have to.”

***

Mitaka is there when they all arrive, the battered cargo craft dominating the hangar, with a full complement of X-Wings and TIEs around her. It’s strange seeing the ships nestled side by side, and Hux is holding onto the side of the gurney as they slide Kylo down to the deck.

The young Lieutenant is even more taken aback by the fact Han Solo, Chewbacca and Luke Skywalker are all here, and that all the mixed soldiers are crowding around the bed. Even after calling ahead, it’s something of a sight.

Bitterly, Hux realises this will bring them together, if nothing else. There’s no doubting the danger Kylo was willing to put himself into for all their sakes, now.

“Has he stirred?” Mitaka asks, waving his medical staff on.

“No.” And Hux has watched him like a hawk. “Nothing we can tell.”

“We’ll do our very best for him.”

Hux is sure of it.

***

Luke, Han, Chewie and Rey reluctantly leave them that night. The intel’s already in the First Order’s system, and they daren’t transmit it over the holonet to the Republic. Plus, Han looked like he was haunted.

Hux pulls up a chair for his feet to sleep next to Kylo’s bed, and is surprised when Dasser and Finn turn up.

“He’s not come to,” Hux says, feeling a bit embarrassed at being caught trying to nap.

“We figured you’d tell us. We just…” Dasser frowns. “We wanted to let you know we’re ready to take shifts watching him. And we don’t want to stop training. Not now.”

“Yeah. We can work out some rota, and then you can still be sure he won’t wake up alone,” Finn adds. “We want to make this work.”

Hux nearly cries at that. It’s just so ridiculously sweet of them, and… maybe he’s overly emotional, because he’s fighting the tears so damn hard. “Th-thanks guys. I know I appreciate it, and I am _sure_ Kylo wou— _will_. You were fantastic today.”

He can’t believe he nearly used the wrong tense. You don’t do that until long after it’s too late, right? Not the other way around. He’s only been out less than a full day, and already Hux is slipping. 

“You want a real bed?” Finn looks around. “We can bring one in.”

“I think I’ll be okay for tonight. Maybe if… maybe tomorrow.” He just wants to sleep now. This whole ‘vigil’ thing isn’t so much a vigil if he sleeps, but he’s so very, very tired. The day’s pulled at him, made him thin and faint. His eyes keep wanting to not open after shutting, and only their presence keeps him up.

“Okay, boss,” Dasser nods. “You call us if you need us. At _all_.”

“I will,” he promises, and smiles himself into sleep.

***

As his mind drifts, it becomes aware, somehow, that he’s dreaming. A knowledge that there sensations he’s experiencing are less than wholly real. 

Hux has never been awake inside a dream before, and it’s unsettling. He isn’t where his latest memory placed him. Instead of in the med bay, he’s in deep, dark space. The whole of it – so fast and unknowable – stretches around him, and he’s floating without needing air.

His body (even in the dream) becomes unimportant. There’s an uneasy sense of knowing he’s safe, that he won’t die in the vacuum, and then a rising, drumming heat from further down. 

He wonders if he’s sensing the Invaders’ dreams, or if he’s literally just so tired he’ll read fifteen messages in the way a mug of caf is offered to him. The achingly weird urges become hotter, brighter, harder to hide behind. The need to just… rend. Smash. Destroy.

Hux wakes with a start, and looks to see Kylo’s face still troubled. A furrow that unconsciousness won’t wipe clean. He’s lost to the dream he’s in, and Hux doesn’t know if he found him, there, or if he just tried to. The blanket he’s somehow acquired is tugged tighter still.

***

In the morning, Kylo still hasn’t woken. Finn turns up with caf, and orders him to get up and go do something. Hux really doesn’t want to leave Kylo’s side, but then he is so tired that the colour purple is an assault. The caf tastes wonderful, and he reluctantly goes to their training dojo.

Which is where he sees there’s an assault course laid out, and the squadron is training by running it and trying to weave their patterns together. It’s… sort of… ingenious? They’re calling out, anticipating, working out methods to alert one another to where they’ll be without taking up too much time saying it.

Nazia Ren smiles. “Figured this was as good a way to train them to fly together as you can get when grounded.”

“It’s ingenious,” he admits. “I wish I’d thought of it.”

“Well… they had excess energy to run off. Plus, it keeps their minds from dwelling, too.”

Hux is entranced by the ever-more efficient laps and loops, their behaviour seemingly erratic, but not. It’s like watching kinetic art, and he beams back at her. “You did great.”

“No change?”

“No… his vitals remain steady, but they don’t know why he’s out, or when he’ll come back.” He pauses, wondering if he should… “Did you connect with the Invaders, when we had the ship captured?”

“A little. But only cursory, because they almost blocked everything out. It was like a gap, and I couldn’t get close to feel it.” Her attention fixes more fully on him, then. “Why?”

“I had a dream. I didn’t know if it was just an anxiety dream, or…”

“Or the inside of Kylo’s head? Hells, it could even be the Force, you know.”

“I’m not Force-sensitive.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re cut off from it. It’s in you, but it’s like you don’t have the eyes to see it.”

“…so why would I see it in my dreams?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if anyone of us who have it really understand how, or why. We just… have it.”

Someone skitters, and she puts a hand up, waiting for them all to pant to a halt. 

“Take ten. Get a drink. Use the ‘fresher. Come back when you’re done.”

A few snaps of salutes, and they’re gone again. 

“I don’t think it’s the Force.”

“Well, maybe not. You want to talk about what you did see?” she asks. 

“It was more feeling than certainty. It’s… hard to explain. I felt I knew something, but I didn’t know what the knowledge attached to?”

“You ever have his dreams before?”

“No. Not that I know.”

“We could… try something. I could… it might not work.”

“What?” 

“I could try to bridge your minds, help guide you into his. I don’t know if he’s too far under to be reached, but if he’ll come back, it’s for you.”

Hux nods, and watches the soldiers stroll back in.

“Your troops, Sir,” says Nazia Ren. 

That’s all kinds of weird, too.  


	63. Chapter 63

Hux doesn’t like looking at Kylo when he’s strapped to monitoring devices and tubes, but he knows the equipment will keep him… will work. Kylo looks diminished in all that white-and-chromium, and Hux can’t ever remember seeing him look so helpless.

Even caged and collared, Kylo hadn’t looked like this. He’d still been fierce, if clipped. Contained, like a fully charged power-cell, waiting to eat out into the world. Now only the faintest movement of his eyes under his lids and the spread of his nostrils and chest indicate he’s anything other than a statue. He looks diminished, and Hux feels nauseous even being in the room.

Nazia and he sit on the cot across from Kylo, pushed right up to be next to him. Hux is cross-legged (and trying not to wince), with his back to the pillow end of the bed. Nazia looks much more comfortable in this position, and Hux wonders how much training Kylo kept his Knights to. After all, Kylo’s physical prowess is quite something even if you discount the Force, and it mustn’t have come easy.

Hux’s hand is palm-up, with Kylo’s draped on top. It lies, sleeping like the man himself, and Nazia’s hand sits atop it.

“You sure this is a good idea?” he can’t help but ask.

“Well, no, but we don’t have any good ideas. We don’t know enough about the aliens to know what they did to him. I’m… not as… skilled at mental manipulation as Kylo is, but I still know how to do it.”

“Okay. Have you ever done anything like this?”

“Not with a third party, and definitely not with someone who doesn’t have the Force. They were just target practice, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t have to hide what you did from me,” Hux offers, quietly. “I helped Kylo come to terms with it. You might not want to talk about it—“

“You’re right, I don’t,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t, because it was just… it happened. Some of it I liked doing more than others, but I knew why I did it. I had a choice not to, and I didn’t take it.”

“Okay. But… the offer will always stand. And if you want to talk about things – not even to look critically – just to know you can say what happened… I’ll do my best to listen.”

“You should try to stop that sort of emotion, right now,” she says, instead. “For this to work, you do realise I’m going to be deep inside your mind? And it might hurt, and I might see things…”

“Inside my head, yeah.”

“And his.” Nazia bites her lip. “He won’t have the same defences, if any.”

“If it saves him, I am sure he’d consent. If not, he’d accept that I had,” Hux decides on the spot, and wonders why he hadn’t thought of it before she did. “We didn’t have this conversation in advance, but I’m pretty sure I know.”

Another thing he’ll need to sort out when ( _when_ ) Kylo comes back to. Living wills, testaments, beneficiaries, preferences. He’s also sure if he asked Leia or Han their opinion, they would also want to go for it.

“If you’re sure, then we’ll proceed.”

He’s grateful for her giving him the facts, and whilst he’d rather never risk someone who wasn’t Kylo inside his mind (maybe Rey, maybe), if it saves his fiancé, he’ll do it. 

“I want you to think about a meaningful moment with him,” Nazia says. “Something powerful. It can be any emotion, it just needs to be a strong one. One you can feel…”

His mind moves, and he feels her consciousness like a raptor-shadow overhead, making his prey-response to run away spike fiercely in his chest. Unlike Kylo’s presence, hers is cold, and sharp. He sees Kylo from behind, a red-sabered hand, and the shape beyond of—

“No!” she shouts. “Not then. That will make it worse!”

Hux isn’t sure why the panic at Kylo being hurt capturing the Invader came to mind first, although it could be fear of losing him. He suspects part of it is the uncomfortable, unusual presence of another Force-sensitive in his mind, too. 

Okay. Not then. Not bad things. Things Kylo might respond to, and things he feels deeply about. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of the hands above his, and focuses instead on… 

A holo. It’d become something of a ritual, now. Grab the drinks and snacks, pull up cushions and curl together on the couch. Something with big explosions, or something funny, or maybe heart-warming. Bad monsters, or sweeping tales of animals with the intelligence of sentient life. He remembers the last time they watched a holo together, and the way he’d kept feeling a nose sniff his hair until he asked _why_. 

_It smells good today_.

_Meaning it doesn’t, normally?_

_Meaning it smells extra good today_.

Hux doesn’t – even now – know why it had been any different, but Kylo had sniffed and snuggled him, and he’d liked it. He can’t even remember what holo they watched, but he does know they finished it and discussed it; between the siege warfare of after-story discussion and the hand moving over his crotch to express everything the story had made Kylo feel.

Maybe she doesn’t need to see that.

“Is it working?”

“I’m not sure,” she admits. “I think if we find something, we’ll know.”

It’s harder to hold onto the hope, to the good memory, but…

Hux closes his eyes again, and he’s back on a First Order facility, captive and hurting. He’d run. He’d run away rather than face up to the truth of his infatuation, and he’d lost all hope of ever walking out of there alive. 

Pain inches into his ribs, slides along the sinew and into the bones. Everything feels heavy and impossible to fight, and then… his Knight in not-so-shining armour. Kylo, come to save him. Hope beyond all hope, and all the darkness smashes away with the knowledge he didn’t deserve this, didn’t…

A stirring, and he looks down. Kylo’s hand weakly flexes, the fingers trying to grip him. Hux bursts out in laughter, and looks over to Nazia. “He’s there.” Subtly, but he’s there.

“He is… but he’s not waking up.”

She’s right. Kylo’s eyes are still closed, and the only movement is his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“He feels faint, and far away. Hux, talk to him? Touch him. I’m going to try to go in without you.”

“Is that—you know what, you know best.” It is not the time to second-guess, and he’s sure she means no harm. Hux climbs onto the medical cot alongside his Knight, gripping his hand fiercely, lying fully against his lover’s flank. He feels his breathing threaten to spill over, and he tries to time it to match Kylo’s.

“Keep talking to him. Try to bring him back. I’m going…”

Hux nods some more, and kisses Kylo’s temple. “Don’t you leave me, not now. We’ve got so much to do. Did you know your new squadron all loves you already? You’ve only just met them and they’re all worried for you. And you need to marry me. And we need to save the galaxy, at least one more time…”

Nazia’s breathing goes rough, and Hux feels Kylo’s body fall into sync with it. He nuzzles at his ear and jaw. 

“Kylo, come home. I need you. We _all_ need you. Please. Don’t go without me. I love you.”

A slash of thought into his mind, and Hux yelps in pain. It’s like a buzzing, angry, shaking and in the very, very distance is a voice he recognises.

“Hux?”

“Kylo!”

The droning flares, then ebbs, and Hux feels himself walking through his own mind, pushing away cobwebs and gusts of air from his face. There’s no light, no direction other than the sound-feel, and he hollers Kylo’s name over and over, until there’s a harsh squeeze to his palm, and his eyes flicker open.

Kylo’s brown eyes are open, too, but too close to focus on. Hux pulls his head back slightly, and smiles. “Hey?”

“Gnkh.”

“I’ll get some icechips and water,” Nazia says, and Hux remembers she’s there. 

She sounds a little strained, and he turns to make sure she’s okay, grabbing for her wrist. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she mutters, and walks awkwardly out of the room.

 _Think she wanted to give us space_.

“Your throat raw?” Hux asks.

Kylo nods. _I’m here. I think. Just. Feel like I got hit by a swoopbike._

“You’ve been out quite a while.”

_Anyone hurt?_

Hux feels his chest tighten. “Just you. They destroyed the ship, and we got a lot of data.”

_Everything okay?_

“Your father nearly started a – would it count as a civil war? Anyway, he nearly broke the ceasefire to take you ‘home’. Which is rich, considering that’s now Hosnian Prime.”

 _But you stopped him_.

“Yes. We’re still on the _Finalizer_. The squadron really pulled together. Finn and Dasser organised a watch over you, so you weren’t ever alone.”

_I think… flashes._

“Where… were you?”

Nazia opens the door, and holds out a jug of cold water, and a disposable cup with ice in. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, thanks,” Hux agrees.

“I’ll tell the medic to come by and check him over?”

_Tell her thank you._

“Kylo says—“

“He’s gotten me out of worse,” Nazia says, shrugging it off. “Happy to return the favour.”

When she leaves, Kylo accepts the ice slicked over his lips, and then tiny sips of water lubricate his throat. He clears it a few times, and Hux props his pillows up.

“I think… they all think together.”

“The Invaders?”

“I think I was… hooked into like, a holonet? Or a comms chatter? It was overwhelming. It wasn’t… like listening to talking, it was like listening to thinking. It was so loud, I couldn’t feel myself any more, I couldn’t feel the _Force_.”

“Do you think maybe that’s to do with how, or why they block it?”

“Could be. I didn’t have any way of communicating with them, all I could do was curl up and try to coast out the sensations. It was horrifying. I didn’t have any sense of time, or my body.”

“I think I saw glimpses. Through you, I mean.” Hux pushes at Kylo’s hair, horrified by the tales. “Do you think we could even try to communicate with them?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know if our thought-processes are alike. It’s… it’s a bit like trying to install Wampa body language into an astromech. It’s just… so different.”

“Well, we know we can destroy them, now.”

“One ship. And it nearly wiped me out,” Kylo says, closing his eyes and lying back.

“One ship, but it can be the break in the dam. The opening of the floodgates.”

Kylo doesn’t look energised, though, he looks… tired. “Can you… can you see if the medic will release me? Unless I _need_ to be on all these machines, I would _much_ rather be back home with you.” 

“Leave it with me,” Hux says, and slips from the bed. But not before he gives him a kiss.


	64. Chapter 64

Mitaka arrives that night with Nazia, and Hux lets them into their rooms as warmly as he can manage. 

“Lord Ren, it is good to see you awake again,” Mitaka starts off.

“Please, you can call me Kylo in private.”

“Very well, Kylo.” He hesitates for a moment. “Dopheld, if you want. But Mitaka is fine, also.”

“Which would you prefer?” Hux asks. “I think everyone already knows _my_ preference…” He has been just ‘Hux’ for some time, and he has no intention of changing that.

“Mitaka is what I am most often called,” the man replies. “If you don’t feel I’m being excessively formal, that’s my preference.”

“I understand completely,” says Hux, and he does.

“We have heard back from the Republic and – the Republic forces.”

Hux understands the slip of tongue. There is nothing to ‘Resist’, other than their common foe, so the Resistance as it was, is currently obsolete. 

“What have they said?”

“I’ve got an encrypted sitrep, with full analysis and key metrics. I thought we could go through them together?” Mitaka asks.

“What about the troops?” Nazia jumps in.

Mitaka turns to her. “What about them?” 

“They got this intel. Shouldn’t they be in on it?”

“…they’re… shock-troops, not—“

Kylo shakes his head. “They’re not. Everyone is important. I agree, we don’t give sensitive tactical information to just anyone, but this team are the best and boldest we both had to offer. It would definitely boost their morale and cohesion, as well as show them the rewards they risked their lives for.”

“Do you all agree?”

Hux feels almost sorry for Mitaka, outnumbered as he is, when Hux nods his assent. But the man seems to take it in his stride. 

“How would you feel about us reviewing it as a group, and from there we determine if there is anything they cannot know, and hold that back?” the Lieutenant offers. 

“That seems fair,” Nazia agrees. “Can you call up the holo, then?”

Mitaka hands out three datapads, keeping one for himself. “There is a lot of intel. I have briefed my analysts to work on the highlights, and the Republic already did their initial breakdowns, and both of those are in your files.”

There’s a lot of information, just looking at the document hierarchies. Hux looks to Kylo, and sees the mixed elation and despair. It’s a huge amount of intelligence, which is good. But a huge amount of information also means a long time to digest it.

“Has there been any breakthrough on weapons capability?” his fiancé asks.

“There’s some suggestions, which the Republic wants to co-ordinate bombing runs to test out,” Mitaka replies. “Would you like to retire and consider things?”

“I think that’s best,” Kylo agrees.

Nazia makes a little gesture, which Hux notices. “Nazia… if you could help me with that thing we discussed, though?”

She’s not as subtle as she thinks, or maybe she doesn’t care. “Great. Yeah. Will do.”

“I’ll inform you by core hours if I think we need to redact anything.” The officer nods to each of them, politely. “Goodnight.”

***

With Mitaka gone, Nazia walks up to Kylo. Suddenly, her whole demeanour changes.

“What did you think you were doing, back on that freighter?”

“Nazia…”

“Don’t you use that tone on me! I felt what you were doing.”

Hux is now completely baffled. “Would someone explain to me what’s going on?”

“I initiated the… contact with the Invader,” Kylo says, his head turned away. 

“You mean the lock down you went into? You mean to say you initiated _that_ , and nearly wound up dead?” Okay, so Hux sounds pissed too, now, but that’s because he _is_.

“I had to!”

“You nearly **died** ,” Hux reminds him. “You were in a coma!”

“I was… it was a calculated risk. We needed to know what they were doing, and… look, I knew if I didn’t do it, that _Nazia_ would.”

“I’m not you!” she yells. “I’m not the grandson of Darth Vader, and I’m not surrounded by friends and family. I’m _alone_ , so if I did die…”

Hux turns in horror. “What? Nazia, how can you think like that?”

“Easy,” she says, hands going to her hips. “He has a family. He has _you_. I don’t. The math is simple enough, and he should have let me take that risk.”

“You’re not less important than me,” Kylo argues. “You’re just as important. And you _know_ I’m better at the mental side of things than you, I had the greatest chance of success.”

These two… Hux wonders if the galaxy saw how viciously they were fighting to sacrifice themselves first, would they still see the Dark Side as ‘evil’? Because this isn’t the evil they’re supposed to be. He has known for a very long time that Kylo is more than the galaxy thinks of him, but he’s pleased to see his analysis of Nazia rings true, too.

“Well, I just – I just care, okay?”

Kylo steps in, grasping her upper arms. “I know. And I appreciate that, truly… but this was my mission. My risk to take, and my authority. I wanted to protect you from yourself.”

“I’m not a kid any more.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need looking out for,” Kylo insists. “Everyone does. That’s why you helped bring me back, isn’t it? Because you were looking out for me, when I wasn’t capable of it.”

Slightly sullen, she nods, eyes averted. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know, and you did. You got me back, and you also got me some useful information. It’s taking me some time to piece it together, but I think I’m going to have some understanding of them. But Nazia… _please_ talk to me, don’t just go hurtling yourself into things. You matter, and I won’t let you think you don’t.”

For a minute, he thinks she’s going to push in for a hug. Just for a minute, and then she steps back. She’s not angry, now, though, but something more nuanced, more complicated. “Okay. But don’t you go off where I can’t find you.”

“I’m going to try my best,” Kylo offers.

She grabs her datapad and leaves.

***

When she’s gone, Hux reels for a moment, not sure what to say.

“Hux… I can explain.”

“You… did that already.” 

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to risk myself, I want you to know. I just felt her trying to form a connection, and I had no time to do anything else. I swear, that’s all.”

Tongue against the jagged line of the inside of his teeth. “It’s not a death wish?”

“I have you to live for,” Kylo insists. “I _want_ to live. But I _will_ always protect my team – and you – that’s just who I am. I can’t say I won’t put myself in danger again, but I _can_ tell you it’s my _last_ option.”

Hux feels the line of his belt under his thumbs, thinking it through. He’s sure he’s done similar himself, and he nods, satisfied. “I won’t tell you not to care about people, and… I trust you won’t be stupid. Just know that I love you, and… know I’d do the same for you.”

“I do know,” Kylo says. “That’s what worries me most of all.”

“We could each promise to just not die?” Hux laughs. “Would that work?”

“I’ll make that promise, and you can kill me if I break it.”

“Let’s get these dossiers open. I want to know what we can tell the troops in the morning.” Hux tosses his head. “On the bed? I can start from the bottom and work my way up…?”

“Perfect. I don’t want to move anyway.”

***

They don’t get to the end of the reports before Hux falls asleep. Hux doesn’t read the summaries straight off, because he doesn’t want his interpretation to be filtered through the analysts’ eyes. He dozes, and jolts awake when Kylo tries to take his datapad.

“Mmreadin’,” he mumbles, awkwardly pawing for the device.

“Sleep,” Kylo insists.

Kylo is the recuperating one, not Hux, and here he is mothering him. Hux sighs, and lets Kylo take it from him. He slides closer, putting his head on Kylo’s shoulder. “Did you find anything?”

“Not yet. We’ll discuss it in the morning, Hux.”

“What if I – what if I could say something now, when I’m sleep-deprived, that I can’t say in the morning?

“It’ll probably be nonsense,” Kylo reassures him. “Come on, cuddle me to sleep.”

“Fine, but if we all die because I fell asleep…”

“Might _actually_ occur if you don’t sleep _right this instant_.” Kylo wrinkles his nose at him. “You need rest. _I_ need rest. So cuddle me, and we can talk through what we saw when we wake up. You’ll understand things better with a refreshed body.”

Which is, of course, correct. It does not help his lingering sense of duty, but he can shelve it for a few hours, and he punches his pillow to settle down. “Okay. Morning. Continue?”

Kylo nods. “Continue. Then. Not before.”

Hux wriggles into place, and drapes an arm over Kylo, tilting his head so their foreheads meet. He’s out before he knows it.

***

Nazia turns up after breakfast, and it looks from her face like she hasn’t slept at all. 

“What is it?” Hux asks.

“Well, I’ve been checking the damage reports and the rate of fire, and I think I’ve come up with something.”

“The… rate of fire?” How much detail has she been looking at?

“Yes, when the damage was reported compared to the hits on target.”

“…that’s even recorded?” Kylo sounds incredulous.

“I had to do a lot of analysis,” she says, shrugging it off. “I think if we can modify our weapons to a ratio of three to seven then—“

Hux holds a palm up. “Three to seven _what_?”

“Three Order weapons to seven Republic ones. For the frequency of pulses. Or – I don’t know – the net result… we’d need to fit ships to fire both, or maybe also try one that literally has that mix, for the test to be truly considered…” She pauses, staring into middle distance for a moment.

Hux looks to Kylo, who then waves a hand in front of her face.

“Both,” she says. “Try both. Ships with three of ours and seven of theirs. And a ship with one made to make that mix, somehow, there’s ways…” 

“Nazia, when did you last sleep?” Kylo asks.

“People are _dying_ , Kylo. I need… I need to do something.”

He hears the edge of despair in her voice, and Hux knows this is her internal way of making amends. This is what she’s decided is her penance, and this is why she tried to connect with the ship. It’s why Kylo’s attempt to save her got her so upset: he stole her chance of redemption, in her own eyes.

Hux touches the small of Kylo’s back, trying to communicate something he’s half sure his lover already knows. She needs this.

Kylo guides her to the couch, sitting her gently down. Hux sits on the other side, a little away so she doesn’t feel too crowded, because he’s certain she’s about to explode. 

“This looks really good, Naz. I think you’re onto something. Do you want to stay here while I get the techs to look into it? It will only be a little while. You can make yourself comfortable for a bit, and then I’ll tell you when we’re briefing the troops?” Kylo asks.

“But I—“

“You’ve done the hard work,” Hux jumps in. “Why don’t you take ten minutes while we get the specialists to start up on a prototype design?”

“…I suppose… but what if it’s wrong?” she says, her eyes pleading.

“It’ll rule something out,” Kylo reminds her. “You just settle down here…”

Hux is pretty sure Kylo is using his ‘influence’ on her, because he guides her legs onto the couch, and gently lies her down. They get up together, and Hux brings a blanket to lie over her. 

Sneaking out of their own room is a new one, but she needs it more than they do. Maker, but  he hopes she’s onto something.


	65. Chapter 65

Hux is pleased to see the smiling faces when Kylo walks into the briefing room. He’s also pleased to see the two factions are seemingly dissolving, because there’s barely a distinction in the way they’re organised and sprawling before he and Kylo enter.

“At ease,” Kylo commands, letting them all relax.

“It’s good to see you back, Sir,” Finn says enthusiastically.

Hux can pretty much tell it’s a sincere emotion, one echoed through the room. Of course they’d all fall in love with Kylo: when he’s not being hideously tortured, he’s a kind, generous, intelligent, funny, devoted guy. So _maybe_ Hux’s opinion is a little skewed, but he thinks he’s close enough to objective.

“It’s good to be back,” Kylo replies, nodding his thanks to Finn and Dasser in particular.

Hux turns to Nazia. “You want to tell them the good news?” 

He wants to make sure the Resistance and Republic forces recognise her, too, as Good. The Order personnel already do, but it won’t hurt to have her feeling more integrated, either.

Nazia looks up to Kylo for permission, then ducks her head very slightly in recognition. “The run we did was a success. We got a lot of very, very useful information about them. There will be dossiers for you all to take away, but we’ve had some ideas about modulating our weapons-fire to be more efficient.”

The group looks around, eyes catching, smiles fighting for freedom. 

“What’s the catch?” Dasser asks. “There’s always a catch.”

“We don’t know for certain the modulation will work,” Nazia admits. “Or if the herd immunity of being in a large group would confer benefits on them.”

There’s a moment of unease, and Hux can see they want to ask more. It’s Kylo they want to ask, so it isn’t his place to say ‘go’.

“S-sir…”

“Yes, Sparks?”

“You were… hurt?”

Hux is actually surprised it’s Sparks who brings it up, but that’s a pleasant surprise.

“I was. I made a Force connection with the Invader,” Kylo agrees. “And then I couldn’t break free, not until Nazia and Hux helped find me, and bring me back.”

“Does that mean they can do the same to us?” Free asks.

“I don’t know for certain, but we had no reports of it in previous encounters,” Kylo replies.

“Plus, he was protecting me.” Nazia folds her arms over her chest. “I was forming a connection, and Kylo knew it, and he stepped into my shoes.”

This gets yet more glances around. 

Gardie clears her throat. “Were you able to find anything out from it? Do you even remember?”

“It’s all in the dossier,” Kylo says. “But yes, to some extent. It felt like – it felt almost like tuning in to the middle point of three holo-signals. It was confusing, and overwhelming, and difficult to interpret.”

“We’re beginning to think they have a more shared consciousness, or connection,” Hux explains. “Like some neural network.”

“So they’re a hive mind?” Dasser asks.

“Something like that, though clearly they can operate singly.”

“We’re going to co-ordinate another attack,” Kylo adds. “It’s going to be a literal dogfight. Go in, with a capital ship as backing, go in fast, hard, hot.”

“Just the way you like it,” Sticks says, elbowing Enty.

“Shut up,” he mumbles back.

“When do we roll out?”

“Tomorrow.”

***

Kylo is still tired, Hux can see. He’s covering over it well, but he’s been drained since the incident with the Invader, and once they’re away from everyone and he no longer has to be strong… Kylo just slumps onto Hux’s chest, head on his shoulder, arms draped limply by his sides.

“You okay?” Hux asks, putting a hand over his lover’s nape.

“Tired,” Kylo complains. “Beyond tired.”

“I told you you went back to full duties too soon.”

“War,” Kylo shrugs it off, his hands making it to Hux’s waist. “Don’t have a choice.”

“Do you want to go straight to bed?”

“No.” Kylo says it sullenly, like a grumpy teenager. “Waste my day.”

“You didn’t waste it, you used your energy on work-related tasks.”

“But if I don’t get time with you, then I wasted it.”

“If you save the galaxy, as you think you can, then you save it _so_ we can have plenty of days together,” Hux reassures him, waddling them both back and forth in a tiny dance. “Small investment in our long-term prospects and viability. Right?”

Kylo snuffles out, clearly still grumpy, and then nods.

“How about I come to bed with you, and we snuggle until you pass out?”

“You won’t fall asleep.”

“…maybe not,” Hux admits, because his insomnia does kick in still. “But at least I can cuddle you while I read up on things, once you sleep?”

“You’re seriously going to bring work to _bed_ , properly?”

“…uh…”

Kylo sighs, and slinks out of his arms. “Fine. But I don’t want it to be a regular occurrence. This is… exceptional circumstances.”

***

Hux has no intention of working unless he literally can’t sleep, and once they’ve both brushed their teeth and climbed into bed (Kylo nearly nodding off whilst on the toilet aside), he scoots up behind him, bending his knees, forcing Kylo to little spoon in his arms.

“I’m sorry I was cranky,” Kylo says, almost buried in the pillow.

“You just got out of – well – some kind of Force-coma, I think you’re allowed a little wiggle-room,” he replies, pecking his jaw. “But if it helps you: I forgive you.”

“I mean it, though.”

“So do I. A bit of cranky behaviour isn’t really a problem. I know you’re frustrated.”

“Shouldn’t take it out on you, though.”

“You’ve got my permission to do it, if it helps. I might tell you that you’re being an ass, but if you need to blow off steam…”

Kylo’s arm grips him tighter, and for a moment they just lie like that, snuggled.

Frankly, when he thinks how far they’ve both come… it’s hard for him to remember the man Kylo had been. Someone down-trodden, whipped into shape by a threatening Master. Someone beaten into submission, feral and angry. 

Now he’s bright, vibrant, independent, loving, self-assured. A little moodiness after a very real trauma would be understandable in anyone, but in Kylo… bouncing back so quickly just shows how strong a person he is. Hux grips him tighter, and starts to roam over his neck with his lips, pushing in tiny whispers of reassurance.

“I was still an ass,” Kylo mumbles.

“Yes, but you’re my ass, and I told you: I forgive you.”

“I’m just…”

Hux forestalls any more comment, stroking his hand up to hold his throat, tilting his neck back. “Shh.”

“Hux…”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Do you trust I love you?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Then let me.”

Hux holds Kylo’s head tilted, his lips moving to draw a semi-circle behind his ear. Just that touch: hand to throat, lips to face. He can feel every swallow and breath under his hand, and it’s strangely erotic to be this close to his breath. 

When Kylo doesn’t fight, Hux pulls at his earlobe with his teeth. 

_Please_.

Just one word, thought right into his head. Hux smiles around the mouthful of Kylo.

_Please: what?_

_Please… I feel out of control. I’m afraid_.

Ah, so it isn’t just tiredness. He’d wondered, deep down, if something was bugging Kylo that he hadn’t yet said. 

_What can I do to help?_

_I don’t know. I… when I think about it, my mind shuts down. I’m so… afraid to go back to that place. I was lost. I couldn’t get out._

Hux isn’t sure why speaking inside of their heads is easier, but Kylo often finds it is. He’s more likely to voice his worries where no one _could_ hear. Part of him worries it’s a throw-back to Snoke, but this is only positive, right?

He lets go of his throat, only to be greeted by a sad squawk. “No?”

“Please… I want to feel like I’m _here_ ,” Kylo whispers. “Please.”

Hux is slowly understanding. He runs his hand over Kylo’s chest, pushing firmly, making the contact as obvious and grounding as he can. Kylo’s feeling disconnected, and he knows how that can affect you. “You can go into my mind, if it helps you know where you are. You can always go into my mind, if you need to. Maybe knock first, unless it’s an emergency.”

Not that he thinks things that he doesn’t want Kylo to know, it’s just that it’s probably healthy to maintain _some_ distinction, right? So he doesn’t ever get lost. 

Could that happen? Could they spend so much time in one another’s heads that they couldn’t be considered two people? No, that… wasn’t possible, surely. They had their distinct likes, dislikes, even when it came down to food. But still, there was something fundamental about having _some_ things held back. Not even because they were controversial, or embarrassing, just because the sense of discretion was so important.

 _Hux, I’m not going to magically over-write your personality_.

Kylo thinks it right into his head, and Hux flushes. _It could happen._

_It could, but it would take me a considerable amount of time, and effort. Snoke didn’t manage it completely with me, and he had me from childhood. I think you’re safe._

_Oh. Good point._

Kylo doesn’t sound distressed mentioning Snoke this time, which is good. Hux breathes a little sigh of relief, and then grabs Kylo’s waist, snuggling in tighter. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise. I won’t go deeper than I need to, to feel… connected to the world again. I just… sometimes it’s hard to stay focused on the here and now, and I spent so long away from you, from everything I knew… I keep pressing my hand into my side to remember what touch feels like. I keep… _testing_ reality.”

“If you need to grab my hand, I’ll be right here. Always.”

Said hand slides lower, stroking his upper thighs, as he kisses at his neck some more. 

“That doesn’t hurt, either,” Kylo points out, wryly.

“This helps ground you?”

A nod, and Hux bends his knees further. Kylo shoves his butt back at Hux, wriggling. 

“You want me in you?” Hux purrs.

_Kinda… would it be weird if you… if you put it between my legs? Do you think?_

It’s not something they’ve done much of, and definitely not finished like that, but he understands Kylo is very tired and they’re already snuggling. _Not weird. Might need some help._

Hux goes back to kissing, and Kylo parts his legs. Hux is only half-hard, but he pushes his cock between Kylo’s thighs, and is gratified when they clamp shut around him. His weight rocks on the bed, and he strokes his hand in soothing circles low on Kylo’s belly as they both tease towards full arousal.

“You foolish, reckless, beautiful thing,” Hux chides him, his hand swiping a flat palm over Kylo’s cock, and then back to belly and thighs. “Don’t you know I’d be lost without you?”

“I’d be more lost without _you_ ,” Kylo retorts. “And I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

It’s not the planning that’s the problem, Hux thinks, and wraps his palm around Kylo’s almost-fully-hard shaft. He thinks loud thoughts of love in case Kylo is still listening, wanting him to have as fierce a sensation to pull him back here, to use as an anchor, as he can possibly make.

His teeth indent a slow, curved river over one shoulder, his tongue filling the riverbed with licks. Between Kylo’s thighs, he can feel the tight muscle, and the ballsac he pushes against. His thrusts are shallow, but it’s still good. Different, but good.

_I thought I would never get to say—_

_It’s okay_ , Hux thinks, as Kylo’s voice wavers. _You don’t need to._

_But… I do._

How can he deny him, even if it hurts? Hux feels the keen ache of terror and horror, an inkling of what Kylo had felt, helpless and lost. He isn’t sure if it’s an echo through their connection, or if it’s just his own empathy.

_I wouldn’t take any of it back, because it got me you. Okay. Maybe kill less people. But I love you. I love you so much, and I – I just need you to know if I go… you don’t… you can… move on._

No. Hux doesn’t want this conversation. It makes his cock wilt, even where it is. “Kylo…”

“I mean it. I’ll watch over you, if I’m one with the Force, but you… need to still live if I—“

“You’re not _going_ _to leave me_.”

_I might have no choice. You might leave **me**._

Hux does not like to be confronted with his own mortality, or that of his lover. They’ve both faced death multiple times, but he isn’t actually ready to die. Not right now. In the heat of the moment, when it’s die or lose billions upon billions of lives, he hopes he’d feel like he could step into the breach, but right now…

 _I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have turned this morbid_.

“It’s okay,” Hux says aloud. “You needed to. And I guess we do need to talk about one another’s… wishes. But can we do that not in bed? Maybe… tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

Kylo is still huddled in his arms, and Hux doesn’t know if he should continue or not. Will Kylo be disgusted by intimacy on the brink of death, or would he welcome the comfort of it? 

_Hux…_

_Yes?_

_Will… I… uh…_

Kylo is definitely struggling. He only ever resorts to non-spoken talking when he’s fighting his confidence, or trying to conceal a conversation. If he can’t even ask for things inside Hux’s head, it means he’s really finding things difficult.

 _Whatever you need_ , Hux reassures him. _Whatever it is._

_Want… want to just feel… safe._

Safe. Hux understands that _he_ is ‘safe’ for Kylo. In his arms and presence was the first time Kylo had felt it in years, and the bubble had slowly expanded outwards. Right now, it was on the verge of complete collapse, so he had to offer him the support to right himself again.

All this leading and warcraft had to be taking its toll, even without the whole Invaders-in-his-mind thing. Hux should have worked that out sooner, and he kicks himself mentally.

_You are safe._

To help, Hux pushes him over, onto his belly. He lies on top of him, using his whole weight to pin the man into the mattress. 

“You are safe,” he whispers, at the back of his neck, rocking very lightly against him. “I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere. Even if you did, I would come find you.”

Kylo’s hands claw at the bedding, and he alternately tenses, then relaxes under him. Fighting for the edges of his lover’s weight, relaxing when he feels secure enough. “I’m sorry I’m… I’m sorry I’m panicking.”

“You have every right to, don’t you forget. You went through something awful, and you’ve got a lot of responsibility on your shoulders. But look at you: look how far you’ve come. How would you have reacted a year ago? Two?”

“…there would be a lot of broken machinery,” Kylo admits, wryly self-effacing.

“And?”

“…I’m… handling it a lot better. But that’s only because I have you.”

“It’s just as much you as it is me,” Hux assures him, right behind his ear. “You’re strong, so strong, and kind. And I’ll be here to help you if you need to feel you’re home.”

 _Please_ , comes the thought.

 _Please: what_?

_Please… make love to me?_

Hux smiles, and takes Kylo’s hands under his, pushing his wrists into the mattress. _How do you want me?_

_Like this._

Hux’s cock is still trapped between his legs, and that’s where he starts. He thrusts shallowly at his ass, enjoying the subtle friction. It’s not like the tight heat of being inside of him, but it’s still pleasurable. 

“You inspire me,” he tells him. “After all you went through, you’ll still go to the very edge of your sanity to protect others.”

“Hux, don’t—“

“Why not? It’s true. You’re naturally _good_ , Kylo.”

_Wasn’t enough to stop me doing bad things._

_It takes more goodness to **stop** doing bad things once you started._

Kylo doesn’t reply, but he does turn his face sideways onto the pillow, taking a shuddering breath.

“Get up. On your hands.” Hux moves so Kylo can obey, and plants his knees outside of his lover’s, clamping his thighs back around his cock. He reaches around with one arm, grabbing for Kylo’s dick, finding it halfway there.

“Hux…”

“Shh,” he soothes, thrusting lightly at his balls, his hand starting to stroke in time with his rutting. “Going to give it to me, aren’t you? Going to give it to me, and then I’m going to clean you up, and wrap you so tightly in my arms…”

His head drops, his hair around his face like water falling, those broad shoulders tensing and relaxing with every slam of them together. 

Hux continues to whisper reassurance, stroking his cock between trembling thighs, stroking Kylo’s own, getting him closer and closer with each pass. He’s panting loudly, little sounds of broken pleasure, and he feels the tension ratchet up just before he needs to release.

“P-please, Hux, I—“

“ _Come for me_.”

Kylo cries out, hurtling into his hand for the last few thrusts. He strokes the spurts into the sheets, still riding his tight legs, and then he hears a silent plea for him to finish on his face. Nodding, he lets Kylo drop (onto the damp patch), roll over, and look up.

Hux walks up on his knees, hovering in front of his face. It’s not often they end like this, but he definitely enjoys doing it. A few more punishing strokes and he’s coming all over his face, watching the pearly dribbles slip over his nose and lips.

Kylo’s tongue slinks out, taking the worst of it, and Hux tries to reach the bedside tissues, only for Kylo to float them closer.

“We should change the sheets.”

“I’ll sleep in the damp patch. Just… don’t leave?”

It’s a little on the gross side, but they’ve done worse. Kylo needs it, so Hux agrees. “Alright. But you’re showering the minute you wake up.”

“If you join me,” Kylo says, and pulls him down. “Hold me. I’m tired.”

Hux obliges, with pleasure. 


	66. Chapter 66

Hux looks at the modified TIEs. Through some negotiation, they have a squadron of TIE-Advances, which all boast hyperdrives, and half have both weapons and the other half have the modified, hybrid weapons. 

It’s quite a sight. 

The Republic also has X-Wings modified in similar ways, in their experimental squadrons, and it’s going to be weird watching the two types of vessel dogfight together against Invaders, but it’s also going to be very reassuring. 

“You sure you can fly one of these?” Hux asks Nazia.

“Unlike your boyfriend, I _can_ fly. I used to take the shuttle when we’d go out, you know.”

“It’s true,” Kylo reassures him. “She was always the go-to pilot.”

“Including TIEs,” she adds. “Shouldn’t I be asking if you’re a good enough gunner?”

“…point.” He’s not entirely happy about being split up from Kylo, but he knows he can’t handle the speed and manoeuvrability of a TIE, and Kylo can barely fly a freighter. 

They really do need to split up, and there’s no bigger ship, and bigger mission this time.

Kylo’s picked one of the First Order pilots to shoot for, and no one’s asking if the boss can shoot or not, though he knows they’re wondering why he isn’t going to fly. Kylo hasn’t chosen to tell them the reason yet, and it isn’t Hux’s story to tell. 

“Do you tend to – you know – bond with your ships?” Hux asks. For all he’d been brought up in the Order, he’d been trained to be an officer. Officers ordered people to go out killing, they didn’t really do it themselves.

Free, one of the Order soldiers, nods. “TIE pilots do, yeah. It helps to fly one you already know. You know where the biting points are, how she handles. There isn’t much customisation allowed, but there’s still ways.”

“Like?” Dasser asks. “We sometimes put some paint on ours, sometimes even rack up a tally of… you know. Kills.”

“We can’t be so obvious, but under the seat you might find notches carved.”

Hux grins at that. Even through all the rules and regs, the Order soldiers had found some small measures of individuality. 

“Yeah, but TIE-fighter pilots were always…” Finn shrugs. “You know.”

“Go on,” Free prompts.

“You know what I mean.”

“I want you to say it, though.” It’s not an angry tone in his voice, but it’s definitely a little tense.

“You had a rep as people a bit…” He searches for a word that won’t be offensive, likely. “You were doing something more dangerous, more difficult. More deadly.”

“We live close to the edge,” Free agreed. “It makes us value life more.”

“How did you… I mean, you don’t even have hyperspace capability.” Dasser tilts his head, clearly on the verge of asking something almost-rude. “Didn’t it worry you? Being stranded somewhere, unable to escape?”

“Why would we escape?” Free shrugs. “We’re there to fight, until we die.”

“And if the capital ship left?”

“Then we’d lost. So we’d take out as many as we could on the way out.”

It’s a painful thought, to be so devoted to the cause. Hux can understand it, but it’s a little… chilling to try to think that way. To believe you were so dispensable, so replaceable, that your death didn’t matter at all. 

“Your group is an inspiration to us all in terms of loyalty,” Kylo says, diplomatically. “And it just shows the difference in our cultures.”

“You think it’s wrong, though?” Finn asks, his eyes darting around.

“I think… I would prefer my men and women to be _able_ to flee, but if they believed in the mission to that level, I would be incredibly proud of them.”

Spoken like the true son of a politician, Hux has to admit. 

“We’re not crazy,” Free says. “We used to think the Republic and Resistance pilots were cowards.”

“We don’t have the drives because we don’t want to fight,” Dasser replies, his tone getting a little defensive, now. “We use them for long-range solo missions, or so we can get away faster. We didn’t have as many people, or ships, so we had to be… conservative.”

“I see that _now_ ,” Free concedes. “But before, we thought you were just… not dedicated enough.”

“I think it was easier for both of us to fight one another if we didn’t think we were alike,” Finn ponders aloud. “Like, if we could see the differences as negative.”

“I’m glad we’re beyond that, now.” Banderten is one of the quieter Republic soldiers, but when she speaks in group discussions, it’s always from somewhere deeply emotive.

“Well said,” Kylo agrees. “Everyone in their ships. We’ve got some aliens to kick out of our galaxy.”

***

Hux does not like to sit in TIEs. They’re not exactly cramped, but they are a ball of pure, destructive intent. Even trained on an actual enemy that doesn’t care to negotiate, it’s still a little chilling. They’re wearing helmets for ear-piece and microphones, as well as for nominal skull protection (though really, if a TIE goes down, it’s unlikely to go down through space to a planet, and if it does, it’s most likely going to explode before it ever hits the ground, but, you know, it’s a small reassurance). 

The Invader fleet’s already gone onto the next star system, which is where they’re going to engage. A quarter of each fleet is due to meet the very edge of the enemy’s flotilla, and Hux hopes to the stars that they can make a significant dent into their numbers this time. They’ve got to show results soon, because there isn’t a way to surrender when the enemy won’t even _talk_. 

This isn’t like the First Order, or the Empire: you can’t just obey the laws and live as a slave. You fight and win, or you fight and die. 

Not wonderful odds.

Nazia doesn’t turn when she speaks, her voice amplified through the helmets they’re both wearing.

“It’s going to be okay, you know.”

“How can you be so sure?” Hux asks. 

If nothing else, he’s in a ship with a Force-sensitive. The last time a Force-sensitive got this close to a _single_ vessel, he ended up in a coma for days on end. It’s a very real concern that she might, because every time there’s been _something_. 

“I’m sure. The Force is with us.”

The Force keeps fucking off, but sure. He presses his lips together and grunts his accord. If he’s going down, then… then it will be like any TIE-pilot and gunner. 

The _Finalizer_ , as the Order’s flagship, isn’t coming with them, but there’ll be capital ships meeting them out the other side of the hyperspace jump. They’re scheduled to arrive in a pincer formation, taking the very tip of the flotilla between them, and pushing them either into the main swarm, or splitting the phalanx off to circle and destroy them.

TIEs are also not great for being in hyperspace. He bets an X-Wing is even worse. All you have for company is your astromech, and that explains quite how deeply a pilot bonds with theirs. He likes droids plenty, but he’s never felt like one was his best buddy and wingman, because he’s never relied upon one for his sole company and to save his life.

Weird, how you realise why people are so different from you, when you’re stuck in a small, durasteel death ball. 

“I’m glad he found you,” Nazia says, cutting through his musing.

“Huh?”

“The boss. Kylo. I’m glad he found you.”

“Oh, yes. I am, too.”

“You guys haven’t told me _how_ you met, you know?”

“…we haven’t?” Whoops. “Uhm, I was a Resistance interrogator. I was assigned to – well – break him.”

“You… oh, Maker. He captor-bonded with you?”

“…think it went both ways, to be honest,” Hux replies. “But he knew… he used to do the same thing, to Resistance soldiers. With the Force, of course, so we both knew what was happening. Uh. We didn’t… I don’t think I tortured him into liking me.”

“Hux, much as you were good at your job, I don’t think you were as good at ‘torturing’ as our previous Master was.”

Huh. Hux never thought of it like that, although he somehow doubts Snoke would have… actually, he doesn’t even want to _consider_ Snoke pursuing a romantic-sexual relationship with Kylo (or anyone) at _any_ age, but he’s sure the monster could have _forced_ it, if he’d wanted to.

A cold chill runs down his spine at the concept. Snoke _could_ have…

“He didn’t,” she says, picking up on the thought. “He used it, kind of… tangentially. Like, it was an undercurrent, but we were never… we never had to do anything to, with, or for him.”

“But he… there was a threat?”

“It was more that he would… discourage us from it. I think he wanted to make sure we didn’t run off and have children, or partners. Some of us used to do it just for… release.” She pauses. “Is this too much information? We kind of… didn’t socialise _much_ with non-Knights.”

“It’s okay if you’re comfortable talking to me about it,” Hux says. “I’m – I’ve heard what Kylo went through, and as I said before, I won’t ever ask you to keep things from me, unless you want to.”

“Kylo protected us all as much as he could. I could tell he would take the worst of it. He would act as the go-between, so he’d be there for anything we did wrong, to pull attention from us. He never saw our mistakes as ours alone, he said he was just as guilty for not training us well enough. The Leader was hardest on him, by a long ways…”

“What were the others like? I only met Ithon.”

“Ithon was an ass, and I don’t mind saying so. I loved him, but he was an ass. I… I guess I miss them. They were the only family I had for years. I was probably… I was the youngest, and I think Kylo protected me the most. I would talk to non-Knights, and I was normally the go-between for us to the Order’s officers and troopers.”

“Like Kylo was to Snoke?”

“Yeah. So I would be more friendly with them, because if we needed things, I needed contacts. Plus, I’ve never really… you don’t need to scare people to lead. Kylo never tried that, even if Snoke did.”

Hux can believe that. “So you don’t think I bullied him into bed?”

“Hux, whatever you think of yourself… you… how can I say this and not sound awful?”

“…just say it, it’s okay.”

“You don’t have the Force, so you can’t… you… any bullying you _could_ do would be from outside his head, if you follow me? You might coerce him, but he’d have… he’d know your thoughts as _yours_ , and… I’m not saying non-Force-sensitives _can’t_ bully, or coerce people, but Kylo…”

“You don’t think what Snoke did to him – and you – made you… more susceptible?”

“Maybe? But if so, where are you going to draw the line between persuasion and coercion? Any time someone wants to convince someone else of their way of thinking, there’s some element of trying to change the other person’s mind.”

“I suppose…”

“Do you think you’ve bullied our squadron? Or do you think you’ve given them options, and let them decide?”

“But you don’t know how we were… he was a _prisoner_.”

“No, I can’t say what you did, or didn’t do. But I can say he was never really happy under Snoke, and now Snoke is dead, and he could wipe through your mind if he _really_ wanted to, and make you forget you’d ever met him. So… you tell me. Do you think you can be a negative influence on him, when he’s happy? Snoke tried, and he was _miserable_.”

Hux chews his lip. “Were you?”

“Not as miserable as he was. I was… sheltered. I could see what Snoke was doing, sure, but I… didn’t know there was a way to get away from that. And because… this sounds awful, but because I wasn’t suffering that much…”

“Easier to put your head down and ignore the worst of it?”

There’s a long, long silence, and he knows he’s touched a nerve. He didn’t mean to, but… it’s hard to turn off the person-reading, even if you give up the job, apparently.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”

“Nah, you’re right to. I was okay with what we did to other people, but if I had any strength of character, I should have seen what the Leader did to Kylo, and…”

“He’d probably have killed you. Snoke.”

“Still… I think I owe Kylo a lot. He was there, whenever we needed him. I never really thanked him. Pretty sure a few times I laid into him for giving me stupid missions, when I’m sure they came from higher up.”

“He’s forgiven you, I can assure you. He probably felt bad for not getting you out of there, sooner.”

“Well, we can’t change what already happened. I just… I _am_ glad, you know? That you found him. I don’t think I ever saw him really happy before, but I see how he looks at you. Makes me kinda jealous. I mean, not of the two of you. Of… having that kind of love for myself.”

“I’m sure there’s the right person out there, Nazia. You’ll find them.”

“If we get out of this war alive.”

“Well, I’ll shoot anything non-friendly you get me close enough to.”

“Sounds like a deal to me.” 


	67. Chapter 67

They jump out of hyperspace right in the thick of it. Or, at least, in the middle of the joint forces, whose vanguard is rushing forward to engage the enemy craft. Hux can’t see Nazia’s face, or tell if she’s feeling unsettled without the Force, but she’s flying the death-ball with remarkable dexterity. It’s only a matter of seconds before he trains his bastardised weapons onto the enemy’s snubfighters. 

He’s pretty sure he just shoots up the void for the first five minutes, his hands panicking onto the firing button, loosing the bolts without connecting to his eyes. He feels the slight recoil from the controls, and bites the inside of his mouth hard enough to sting.

“Calm down,” Nazia calls out. “Look for where they are, and work out where they’ll _be_. Shoot _there_.”

Hux knows this, it’s just that he’s only ever done this in training: in simulators. He’s never actually been in a dogfight before, and this is suddenly Real. They could get blown up at any moment, and he can’t even reach out to Kylo through the Force (or whatever his mental screaming for attention until Kylo listens counts as). He’s in this TIE with Nazia, and there’s no way out.

Stop. Breathe. Remember the training. Remember it’s just like throwing garbage into the trashcan. Basic trajectory and speed. Unconscious calculations. Let go. Visualise it, and stop over-thinking. _Do_.

He punches down on the triggers, and suddenly there’s a flare of light and something explodes at the other end of it.

“Did you see? It’s working!” And he hit it!

“I knew it would,” Nazia crows. “I knew it!”

Now their weapons are cutting through, suddenly the conflict _shifts_. Instead of the hopeless suicide runs, now they’ve got a fighting chance. The joint forces push harder, and the capital ships come closer, aiming at the larger ships. The TIEs and X-Wings continue to strafe the larger ships, and engage with the smaller ones at the same time. Everything is a cacophonous _mess_ , and Hux has to start paying attention to the IFF so he doesn’t friendly-fire any of their side.

“ _We need to push this advantage, in case they modulate their shields to compensate for this_ ,” Kylo’s voice comes over the comm. 

Hux clicks his channel open. “Did you contact the flagships?”

“ _Yes. So, everyone on me. We’re going to push in and try to disable the biggest ship they have. Send them a message._ ”

They… what? Hux is just about managing to shoot the little ships. Okay, a battlecruiser is going to be _easier_ to hit, but to hit somewhere meaningful is more difficult. Plus, it will be harder for Nazia to pilot them between the cannon-fire, and…

It’s really not his place to argue, because the ships swarm around Kylo’s command, and press on. He can feel his heart pounding for a moment more, and then there’s an eerie, out-of-body stillness. It’s like he’s no longer physically in his form, and he’s just thought, action, reaction. The adrenaline’s kicked him so high he’s in Performance Mode, and – lost in the zone – he makes nearly every shot he takes. Bam. Bam. Bam. Everything in his sights disintegrates mere moments later, filling the empty space with debris.

The amount of lives he’s taking doesn’t register. The amount of lives their side is losing isn’t real, and all that matters is the bolts landing home. He can’t feel the thudding heartbeat in his own ribs, and only the controls and the thickness of his lips, fat and full, register in his mind. Lights flash, and the bank, roll, and yaw of the ship should make his stomach flip. Even without gravity, seeing ‘down’ become ‘up’ is disorientating, most days. Not now: now it’s all just images processed dispassionately.

Bam. Bam. Bam. More explosions. Flower-like in form, fire-like in colour.

He sees the slightly pearlescent hull of the larger ship, all swollen carbuncles and ridges, and yet there are no visible viewscreens. Maybe they don’t ‘see’? Maybe they perceive the universe with entirely different senses? 

Do they even know they’re being repelled? Do they have a concept of ‘other’, to oppose them?

Hux feels almost hysterical for a moment, understanding that he _doesn’t_. That these beings are so alien to him, that he doesn’t know if they even appreciate the possibility of a species that isn’t them, or maybe they do, and don’t care? 

They might only know touch and taste. They might not understand sound, or vision, or smell. Maybe they sense things Humans (and other species he knows) can’t? Like seeing in a different spectrum? Sensing heat and movement? Sensing the Force? Something entirely other that he’s never considered a possibility and so couldn’t begin to describe, or conceive of?

His mind is whirling so fast, and then there’s a _whoop_ over the comm that makes him jump so hard he thinks he’ll feel it tomorrow.

“What?”

“Someone – Finn, I think – just made a hole,” Nazia says, her voice almost hushed.

“A _hole_?”

“In the lead ship. There’s a hole in the hull.”

Hux can see it, now, and it’s… “We have to go inside.” 

“What?”

“We do.” He flicks to call Kylo. “Ky… that hole?”

“ _We have to go inside_ ,” his fiancé replies, echoing his words perfectly. It’s almost spooky.

“I knew you’d understand.” Hux isn’t even sure how he knows, he just… does. Maybe he felt Kylo’s thoughts, or maybe it’s just a hunch, or any number of reasons. But that hole is there for a reason, and that needs exploiting, as soon as possible.

“ _You two ready for that?”_

“Count me in,” Nazia replies, even if she sounds a little wary.

“ _Listen up: we’re going in through that hole. Nice work, Finn. Anyone who wants to come inside, get on my six._ ”

“ _Roger that._ ”

“ _Understood, Sir.”_

A few more voices (not enough, where are the rest? Are they okay?) agree, and Hux’s eyes scan the battlefield as Nazia pushes them right onto Kylo’s slipstream. They’re met with a massive wall of weaponsfire as the Invaders try to stop them breaching their hull, but Kylo’s pilot (Dasser) gets him past, and Nazia follows close on their heels.

The TIE settles close to the entrance, off to one side to let the other ships in. The lights keep running, and the hatches start to pop open.

The inside of the vessel is dark, unlit, and just as creepily uniform in colour as the exterior of the ship. He doesn’t know if the lights are out because of the damage, or if there is no illumination by design. Hux snaps the EVA section onto his helmet, giving him a brief window of oxygen. He’s already in a TIE-gunner’s flightsuit, which is designed to seal in the event of spacing, or bailing in atmosphere. There’s not a lot of range in the air tank, but enough for a brief sojurn.

“What are you doing?” Nazia asks.

“We need to be out, and on the ship.”

She pauses for only a moment, and then grabs her air tank.

***

The ship doesn’t have gravity turned on, or maybe it doesn’t need it. They’re floating inside, weightless and confused.  Hux looks around, wondering where the aliens _are_ , and fighting a rising certainty that there _isn’t_ one.

“They’re droids, aren’t they?” he says, pushing his fingers into the strange walls, wobbling away from them when he does so. 

Kylo has his lightsaber out, and the small crowd of lunatics huddle closer to him, pushing away from the ship to get closer. “Not… quite. We can’t sense droids in the Force, and these… _block_ the Force, not just don’t-exist.”

“But you joined your mind with the one we got on its own?” Finn asks.

“Yes, so it’s… more complicated than how our droids are. I don’t know how to explain it, but they feel… different.”

“They don’t have the same senses, or connection to the universe as us,” Hux says. “That’s why we can’t talk to them. They might not even have a _concept_ of negotiation.”

“How can you tell that?” Nazia asks.

“I don’t know. I…” Hux reaches out, touching the ship. “Ky, Naz, can you… do you feel the Force right now?”

“Very, very faintly,” Kylo replies. “Why?”

“I think we need to find some way to communicate with them in a group. I don’t know why, but…”

Flashes of things, seen through Kylo’s eyes. He lifts his hand, and lets Kylo take it. 

“You think they’ll understand better if it’s more than one of us at once?” his Knight asks.

“Yes. I think… something you saw. I think I felt it, too.”

Nazia takes his other hand, and then they all grab hold, forming a circle, bobbing weightlessly above the ‘ground’. It’s weird as hell, but Hux can’t shake the feeling that it will help. The lone ship had been weak when separated from the fleet, and maybe they only understand systems, not individuals?

“Everyone… I’ve not done this before, not with so many, and with such a weak sense of the Force. I’m going to need you all to think of the same thing at once, when I call it out. Really think it hard, so we can line our thoughts, and open our minds,” Kylo says.

More nods, and it’s clear the others hold the Force in reverence. He can understand that, and he’s seen more of it than most. He tries to clear his mind, to be ready for whatever Kylo calls out.

“I want you all to think about milk on cereal. The yellow splotches in blue. The way it hides the end of the spoon. The sound of the crinkling packet. The slosh of the milk…”

Why that, of all things? Is it just that Kylo assumes they’ll all be able to concentrate? He should be focussing harder, but he needs to keep up with everyone else. It’s like listening to a room from two (shut) doors down the corridor from him, and he needs to be _here_.

Blue milk. Yellow cereal. The way it swirls normally clockwise, but sometimes not. The spoon sliding into the bowl, and trying to balance it to keep the handle clean. The smell of fresh fruit juice. The knowledge of a day ahead, and trying to work out what was needed for—

Hux stops. He’s aware of a multitude of hands reaching for the spoon, and he knows they’re connected, somehow. He looks up, right when everyone else does.

Everyone’s thoughts, and everyone’s bodies. A multitude of hands, and his sense of ‘self’ is floating somewhere up and to the left. 

“Now… I’m going to try to talk to them,” Kylo says.


	68. Chapter 68

If finding himself connected to a whole squadron of people wasn’t weird enough, what comes next has to be the most surreal moment of Hux’s life. He pities the non-Force-sensitives who haven’t ever had a Knight of Ren (or a Jedi) in their head, because they’ve got even less of an understanding of what’s about to happen.

Kylo and Nazia’s minds are the most obvious in the little network they’ve made, and the only real way to conceptualise it is to think of it as a blend between a computer network and a radio network. It’s thoughts and feelings, not voices and datastreams. He’s fairly sure it’s too cursory for anyone to get anything juicy from one another, and mostly he feels overwhelmed by everyone’s confusion and alarm. 

It’s hard to stake his own claim to his own feelings, and not be washed away in the storm. Kylo and Nazia’s certainty help with that, and he almost huddles between them, mentally, taking shelter from the emotional storm.

Hux looks out at the ship, dark and foreboding, and feels the two Force-sensitives… knocking? Calling? It’s more emotion and intent than action, and then it’s like the room they’re in whooshes around them, and they’re floating in a high-vaulted, unlit, cold and dark room. 

No light, anywhere in the ship. None that he can sense, and the darkness becomes so overpowering, overwhelming. It makes eyes useless, as they blink and see no more or less when they’re open or closed. Habit keeps them open, though he’s beginning to wonder if closing them would trick his mind into feeling better about the oppressive murk.

All of a sudden, the walls almost… pulse. Like they’re lungs, or tongues. It’s waves of invisible thought, and man, doesn’t he feel stoned right now. It’s almost as bad as that one time they gave him the Good Stuff after he broke a wisdom tooth, except this time it’s infinitely more fightening.

“Can you understand us?” Kylo’s voice calls out, echoing and re-echoing, and Hux feels like this room is a massive version of his old, discarded mask.

The image comes from nowhere, and he can’t shake it. Locked inside it, breath bouncing back onto a mouth.

“We don’t want to fight you, but you’re destroying our homes.”

The walls feel… heavy. Heavy like gravity is stronger, though they’re still floating. Hux feels unpleasantly like all of his internal organs are being dragged towards his ass, and he struggles to pull air in.

“Leave this galaxy. There will be others. Or look for supplies where there are no sentient lives,” Nazia joins in. “We will fight if we have to.”

“Do you think they even understand? Why would they speak Basic?” Dasser asks.

“He’s right… we need to think in… in… abstracts,” Hux mumbles. “Not in words. In concepts.”

“How the hell do we do that?” Nazia asks. “I mean, seriously?”

“If they understand emotions… we need to show them that they’re causing negative emotions.” Kylo’s voice – echoing still – sounds… almost dream-like. “Think about looking at them – or – think about them in general, and then… let your negative emotions consume you.”

“Sounds like the Dark Side to me,” Nazia jokes, very gently.

“If that’s what it takes,” is Kylo’s way too serious and sincere a reply.

Hux imagines them, from the first footage. Descending on populated worlds, devastating them. Weaponsfire and the horror of being attacked. The terrified war councils. The knowledge of death, of ending. 

It’s hard to face it, to let the pain that’s so great you normally turn away from it to be in control at last. The death count. The number of displaced people. The amount of destroyed ships. The whole cultures and civilisations ripped to almost nothing. The artwork, the houses, the landscapes, the hopes and dreams. Families split up in their fleeing. 

They were supposed to make a home, now. He and Kylo were supposed to be happily arranging their wedding, not running around like lunatics, from planet to planet, ship to ship. Not…

He feels guilty, then, and he looks up at the squadron around them. Two Knights of once-Ren. Several Resistance, and more First Order. If it hadn’t been for the Invaders, there would be no way Nazia would be here, working with them. Finn wouldn’t have a _name_. They wouldn’t be here, because without their combined enemy, there would have been no reason to—

Something howls, like wind through an unsound window, and Hux yelps as the connection shatters, sending them all flying through the weightless room. 

“What was that?” Nazia shrieks. “One minute I was thinking about how awful they were, and then—“

“Might have been my fault,” Kylo mumbles. “I was… I think both me and Hux were thinking about how it meant we might actually heal the rift between us.”

“Between…?” Finn pushes.

“The Order, and the Republic,” Kylo concludes. “How we’ve got a chance for real peace, if we can get these aliens to move on.”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Hux watches the Order soldiers all look around, and the Republic ones do, too, just a moment later.

“We can’t hate one another without remembering our similarities, now, can we?” Dasser says, sounding a little shaken.

“Can we leave the rest of the warm fuzzies until after we actually are _safe_ to enjoy them, though?” Hux can feel the pressure somehow shift, and his ears rattle inside his suit. “I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”

“Back in the ships. I think we made our point as well as we can,” Kylo agrees, his Commanding voice back in charge.

***

It’s strange to go from inside of everyone else’s heads, back to your own. From connected to a massive entity and fleet, to just… yourself. Hux feels awkward in his body, clumsy in his small frame, and colder, somehow.

“You’re used to the contact being pulled back in a more controlled way,” Nazia explains, picking up on his shakiness. “Kylo’s – Kylo was always the best of us at going into heads. He could make it painless, or anything but. I’m sure he’s been gentle with you, if I’m guessing right in he’s done it to you before.”

“…a few times.”

“It’s… intimate, when it’s done mutually. Not even… I mean, some of us used to. It’s not all torture and interrogation.”

“You mean… ah, non-sexually?”

“Yeah. We… would sometimes share experiences. It’s… different, when you live around just other Force-users. We didn’t have to hold back who we were any more. Didn’t have to… pretend we were the same as everyone else.”

Hux remembers the flashes of Kylo’s childhood, of… Ben. Of a boy ridiculed and distanced from everyone, just for things he was naturally capable of. Even with a mother and an uncle with those talents, not having peers must have been incredibly isolating. 

“Can we… dock that idea for later?” he asks, as she flies them into battle. “Not to belittle your past, or your… life experiences, but to maybe extend how many you’ll get?”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I guess our little conversation didn’t work.”

“ _Could anyone… I’d really appreciate – **shit** they’re swarming me_!”

Kylo’s voice inches higher with distress, and they’re banking towards him before Nazia responds aloud. “I’m coming, Squadron Leader. Stay with us.”

“ _Could you use some help_?” comes a familiar voice over the comm.

“Rey?”

“ _Got Poe and the rest of Black Squadron here. Figured you could use some help_.”

“ _Take anything we can get. Good to hear your voice, Rey_.”

“ _Couldn’t let you have **all** the fun_…”

Dasser and Kylo _are_ getting swarmed, by the stars. Hux counts at least seven craft trying to hone in on them, and he blasts the closest two, as the others swarm around to help their struggling friend. Sensing they’re outnumbered, they peel off and – as should maybe have been expected – the next gunner calls out.

“ _They’re on my six, now_!”

Finn’s voice. The whole group follows, moving en masse. Hux doesn’t have time to think about if it’s even a sound strategy or not, or if they’re being shepherded into something, when the ships start jumping away.

“What the—“

“They’re retreating,” Nazia says. “Why? The fight’s about fair…”

“It’s the first time they’ve suffered any real casualties, I suppose.” But as he watches more and more of the enemy ships blip away, he can’t help but wonder where they’re going, or what they’re planning.

“Do we… even know what it is they’re stripping from the planets they’re going to?”

“Honestly, no. We can’t get close enough to do a full analysis, or to see if it’s mineral, water, metal, mechanics… or a combination.”

Hux didn’t think he’d missed that in any briefing. So it’s not like they can even offer up a tribute to ask them to leave… or understand what they want, or why. 

“We need to follow them.”

“…what?”

Hux presses his comm link. “Kylo…”

“ _Yeah. We need to go where they’re going. Need to hitch a lift with one of the capital ships, before they’re all gone._ ”

“Are you two _crazy_?” Nazia squawks. “You want to _follow the big nasty ships_ back to where there will be _lots more of them_ which will probably annihilate us the minute they realise we piggy-backed across?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kylo says. “ _Volunteers only_.”

“ _We’ll come_ ,” Poe’s voice chips in. “ _If you want us. Black Squadron are ready, willing, and able_.”

“ _It’s a good job we love you, Black Leader_ ,” Snap drolls. “ _But that’s affirmative._ ”

“ _Alright. Everyone, get as close to a cruiser as you can. Hook on, shoot in, dock, lock your damn wings around something that sticks out, get your astromech to hold on… whatever it takes._ ”

“Shouldn’t we clear this with the command teams?” Nazia asks.

“Pretty sure they’d let us, anyway,” Hux replies. “This is how the Resistance – and the Republic – win wars.”

“Crazy ideas and last minute hunches?”

“ _The Force_ ,” Kylo corrects her.  


	69. Chapter 69

So, apparently they have to follow the scary, murderous, uncommunicative, hive-mind aliens back as they retreat from the main fray. Of course they do. If in doubt, when things are dire, you always do something so ridiculous as to be almost preposterous. Blow up a Death Star with an X-Wing. Save your mind from rape and pillage with cake. Follow the enemy when you get them to retreat.

It’s right, though. He feels it in his bones, and it’s strange. It’s the same kind of compulsion that kept him going back to see Kylo, even beyond the orders from his mother. The same kind that told him he needed to get closer, to listen more. 

Hux knows the Force is out there, and he knows he’s not got the same connection to it that his fiancé does. He’s very far removed from it, but maybe his hunches come from that? Could the Force be nudging some people subtly, or is it his subconscious working through it, like the hand and eye catching a ball before the brain thinks about it?

All he knows for sure is that this is what the galaxy wants from them. Nazia pushes their TIE in close to one of the larger ships, and they all jump together.

***

“You know, he was always like this,” Nazia complains, without heat.

“Crazy?”

“Yeah. We all… well. We’d heard rumours about how his family were, but he just used to say it was the Force guiding him.”

“His family _is_ strong with the Force, so it could still be true.”

“Pretty sure it’s him. We all had the Force, and we never felt like doing insane things.”

“That’s probably why we follow them…”

***

The hyperspace jump takes them all back to the first system, where the Invaders first came to their galaxy. Hux peers out at planets that look obviously different to the footage he’d seen right at the point of the invasion. 

“They’re… strip-mining?”

“It looks like it… hells, I’ve never seen a _planet_ change colour before.”

“Me either,” Nazia admits, her tone shaken. “What are they taking from those worlds?”

“It looks like pretty much everything.”

“So, you think your boyfriend has his plan sorted out, yet? He’s had more than thirty seconds, so he should have…”

Right on cue, the comm buzzes. “ _Okay, everyone report in. I want us all to head back to that ship with the hole punched in it._ ”

“Uh-huh. Well, we’re here,” Nazia calls out.

One by one, the other ships join in. Almost all of their joint squadron, plus Rey, Poe, Snap and a half a dozen of the Republic fleet. It’s quite a group they’ve amassed.

“ _Anyone been fired at_?” Poe asks.

“ _Negative._ ”

“ _Not here_.”

“They do know we’re here, right?” Hux cranes to look around. The ships are all… stationary. The ones that have jumped back. “They’re not moving?”

“No,” Nazia confirms. “No one is moving.”

“ _You sure we should move, and draw attention to ourselves_?” Snap asks.

“ _We didn’t come here to hide, we came here to talk_.” Kylo’s voice is sure, even if Hux thinks there is likely some doubt lingering, below. “ _We need to finish the conversation. We were getting somewhere, but we had to show we’d follow through. No one fire, unless fired upon. Follow my lead, and we’ll go back to the damaged capital ship_.”

Flying through a still armada is absolutely surreal. They hang in space like the relics of a battle, as if they’d been defeated and left for dead. No lights show on the hulls, but the readouts an detect plenty of energy sources. They’re not dead, they’re… waiting.

The small collection of TIEs and X-Wings weave through the fleet, falling into line behind Kylo’s ship, spear-headed and ready to scatter. Hux can feel the tension in the wobble of wings, and they slowly fly into the hole in the hull.

This time, there’s more ships, so it’s a tight fit getting them all together. Everyone takes a moment to make themselves space-ready, and then they all climb out of their respective crafts, pushing into a huddle in the middle. 

“You did this before?” Rey asks.

Kylo nods. “We connected through the Force, and to them. But I think we need to do it a second time, with more of us. They need to understand _us_.”

“By us understanding them?” Nazia asks.

“Exactly. It’s not a one-way thing: if we’re communicating, we need to understand what they want, and how they think. Otherwise, we can’t express our own wants.”

Which is precisely why communication has failed so far. It’s all been shouting and not listening, or shouting in ways the other can’t hear or interpret. Hux could kick himself for not thinking of that earlier, and he grabs Rey’s hand as he moves to stand beside Kylo.

“You okay?” he asks her.

“Doing better knowing you’re okay,” she replies. “It’s been hard without you two.”

“We’ve missed you, too. We’ll catch up, soon,” he promises.

Kylo clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Alright… we connected to them last time, but if we can do it a second time, we prove it wasn’t a fluke. We prove we _want_ to connect, because we’ve gone out of our way to do so, and not to push the offensive.”

“This isn’t going to hurt, or make us all… murdery insane?” Jess asks.

“No more insane than you already are,” Poe laughs. 

“Hey!”

Hux takes Kylo’s hand with his free one. “Make a circle. It’s not going to hurt, but we’re going to need to all work together. Just follow Kylo, Rey, and Nazia’s lead.”

***

This time, the connection forms quicker. Maybe having Rey around is helping with that, or those who did it last time are more open to it a second time. 

Shortly after the connection is made, they’re… in the ship, but surrounded by shapes. The shapes look vaguely humanoid, indistinct but bipedal. There’s no real sense of colour to them, or even a facial structure. It’s like looking at a corporeal shadow, and Hux wonders if it’s because they can’t work out what the ‘standard’ is. 

Most of them here, right now, are Human. There’s one Sullustan, and one Rodian, but even amongst the Humans there’s a vast variety of skin tone, facial shapes, body shapes, hair colour and styles. Then there’s the clothing to contend with. 

He sincerely doubts the forms that gather are any representation of the Invaders’ true selves, but more an attempt to be understood.

“What now?” Finn asks. “Do we… do we just talk to them?”

“I would like everyone here to think about their homeworld. Think about it in detail: how it looks from space. Where in the galaxy it is. Where you were born. All the relatives and friends you have who live there…” Kylo suggests. “We need them to understand we’re connected to our planets.”

Hux doesn’t have much of a ‘homeworld’, but D’Qar is the closest thing he has. He doesn’t want to think of the training facility, so he pictures green trees, big hangars, the bar after a mission. All the different faces. He thinks of sitting down to dine with Kylo, Rey, Leia, Han, Chewie, Luke. He thinks of their home, and his mug. He thinks of the co-ordinates he would lock in when coming home, and the clearance he’d use to get back to a landing pad. 

Despite himself, he smiles. He misses that place terribly. The _Finalizer_ is good for war, but not for _home_. Even with Kylo there, it’s not quite the same. Even Hosnian Prime had its flaws, but D’Qar… he could imagine himself settling there, maybe. Staying for good. Setting up some career or another, as Kylo teaches the new generations of Force-users, along with Rey and Luke.

“I want them to understand our communities, our lives as complicated, rich, and worth living,” Kylo goes on. “They need to see we have worth.”

“They need to believe we’re of worth.” Nazia sounds a little… strained.

“It’s worth trying.” Rey, always hopeful. “If they’re intelligent enough to build these ships, then they must have the capacity to reason, to… feel.”

Which is so very – non-Invadery. Hux wonders what they should refer to themselves as? There’s so many species in this galaxy, and they’ve usually been divided by the single tongue of Basic. Sure, they co-exist, but he can’t even think of an overall banner, a term that would encompass people beyond species.

Republicans? Members of the Republic? (Plus the First Order…) 

They could use a name, one to rally behind. A sense of identity, that was never truly needed before, because there was never an ‘other’ to define them against. Republic-Order, Rebellion-Empire. The titles and groupings came when you wanted to show what you were _not_.

But it is. Whatever ‘they’ (and the they that he was part of) are, they believe that emotion is key, and fundamental. That compassion and understanding, discussion and compromise, co-existence and mutual benefit are absolutely core to any thinking being.

Okay, so the Republic people believe that much more strongly, but that… really is what life in this galaxy revolves around. Of course they would believe they could talk their way out of it! Even though they keep trying that, interspersed with violence. It never seems to be words alone, but words and weapons. They _strive_ for democracy, and find one peppered with bangs.

The figure nearest approaches more, circling their group oh so slowly. There’s a sudden pulse of emotional discord (fear, confusion, need, alarm), and then the thing holds up a hand. A small representation of a planet, and tiny ships descending. The unpleasant emotions go.

“They… need it to survive?” Hux guesses. “That’s what they want us to know?”

Kylo paces closer to the figure. He takes the floating orb of a world, and there’s the unpleasant emotions again. “They need to know they’re causing in us what they avoid for themselves.”

“If they need this for survival… they could go to places that aren’t inhabited?” Rey suggests.

“Show them that…” Kylo says. “Draw the map, and show them leaving… and going places we aren’t.”

“But won’t that send the problem to someone else’s doorstep?” Finn frowns. “And make them suffer?”

“Not if they avoid sentient lives. Our galaxy is full, but we don’t know about anything beyond it.” Kylo floats the world into the map Rey is drawing, and it shrinks down to take its place in the map.

Poe watches, his eyes flickering between map and ‘beings’. “You think they’ll do that? Though I guess they’ve got just as much right to exist as anyone does.” 

“We have to hope they will.”

Hux thinks a little fleet into the galaxy, and then makes them fly away, the feeling of distress lifting palpably. It’s an odd way to communicate, but it seems to be doing the trick. 

The image is wiped, and the shadow-figure paints another: their craft, leaving this vessel. It’s imprinted right inside their minds, an emotionless instinct to _go_. 

“Do you think… we got through to them?” Nazia sounds hopeful, so hopeful.

“We need to leave, and see if they do, too.” Kylo reaches for Hux’s shoulder, and grips. “Come on. We’ve done everything we can.” 


	70. Chapter 70

No one talks all the way back. They plot the course for the debrief location, where Order and Republic ships are gathering to lick their wounds and share intelligence. It’s in the centre of the Meridian Sector, and seeing all these former enemies floating together peacefully is yet another brain-melting moment.

“We’ve got instructions to dock with the _Finalizer_. All of us. Seems the Republic leaders are there, too,” Nazia says.

“This should be interesting. I wonder when General Organa was last on a Star Destroyer?”

“Please don’t get her started. If nothing else, Kylo told us _all_ about how he’d hear those stories again and again.”

“I suppose it would get old, after a while,” Hux agrees. He hasn’t gotten to that point, not yet. Leia, Luke and Han’s tales are still vibrant when he hears them, but he never had the embarrassment stage of adolescence and parental annoyance to colour the stories. 

He’s hopefully got enough time with them to _get_ bored of them.

They land their motley, mixed-origin squadron inside the _Finalizer_ , and this time Rey is followed by Poe, Snap, Jess and a few others. There’s quite a few hugs and handshakes, and Hux doesn’t even register that he’s being pawed, because he’s long since passed the discomfort stage. Nazia and the Order troops are introduced, and then Kylo calls him, Nazia, Rey and Poe up to the debriefing. Snap and Finn are left in charge of the pilots they leave behind.

***

In the main meeting room, there’s familiar faces from both sides. Captain Phasma and Lieutenant Mitaka are there, and then he also knows Leia, Luke, Han, and there’s Statura and Ackbar. There’s some Republic officers he doesn’t know, but there’s a quick round of introductions and then everyone sits at a broad, round table. 

“First off: what were you thinking?” Leia starts. “You took two squadrons with you?”

“Well,” Kylo starts, squaring up to the inevitable tirade, “…they weren’t ordered to follow. It was volunteer only.”

“And we all volunteered,” Poe says, defensively. “Kylo had a play, and we followed.”

“It was still… reckless, and ill-thought through, and—“

Han puts a hand on her shoulder. “Precisely like we woulda done, Leia, and you know it.”

“That’s hardly the point,” she blazes, though Hux can see it’s worry, not anger, that makes her so on edge.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Mitaka asks, diplomatically. “As you seem to all have come home in one piece?”

Kylo pulls his lips in, hollowing his cheeks, and then nods. “We went through to attempt to make contact with them again, and communicate. We reasoned they thought more as groups, than as individuals, so we attempted to show them through multiple connections that we were a community, and we were their… equivalents.”

Statura leans forwards. “You actually spoke to them? How?”  

“Through the Force. We’ve been finding it easier to access in their presence, although still not completely at full strength. We connected as one group, and then made overtures towards them,” Kylo answers.

“What was it like?” asks a Mon Cal female who Hux does not recognise.

“It was very strange,” Rey admits. “It wasn’t like speaking, it was like images, feelings, thoughts. We showed them that their attacks caused us distress on a large scale.”

“And at no point did they show aggression towards you?” Phasma asks that.

“None,” Hux confirms. “When we got there, we all flew to the damaged ship. No shots fired on either side. They allowed us to enter, to connect, and to leave.”

For long moments, no one speaks. It is maybe the most painful silence Hux has ever endured, and he spent days upon days in a cell alongside Kylo. He spent even longer days in cells of his own capture. But this – there’s _hope_. And the hope is so great, but the risk so terrible, that he feels every churn of his breakfast in his gut.

Under the table, Kylo’s hand finds his, and they hold on to one another.

“What were our casualties?” Leia asks, clearly unable to continue with the thought just now. It’s there, on everyone’s mind, but until it’s true, it can’t be spoken of.

The war could be over. It’s up to the Invaders to decide that, but it could be over.

***

The majority of the Republic starfighters head out after the debrief, but Rey and Poe have asked to stay. Hux convinces Kylo that a bit of team bonding is in order, and they invite the squadron into the small living room area of their quarters.

It’s by no means designed to host this many people, but as there _aren’t_ anywhere for non-officers to hang around and distress, he’s sure they all will think it’s palatial. And the Resistance fighters have always been used to making do with whatever’s available.

Hux watches as they pull cushions to the floor, sitting around and leaning over things, unwinding step by step. Poe’s sitting cross-legged, leaning back against the arm of the sofa, and that gives everyone the permission they need to sprawl.

“I bet some of them have never even… you know. Socialised off-duty before,” Hux whispers to Kylo.

“Most of them. You know the training regimen as well as I do. They’ll probably try to salute when I go back in.”

“They don’t have a concept of off-duty, do they?”

“No… it’s work, sleep.” Kylo scrubs at his hair. “Am I giving them a taste of something they’re going to miss, and make them forever unhappy once this is over? Or will Mitaka just… wipe everyone? And all we did get undone?”

“You know, we won’t be able to tell until after, but… I don’t know. He seems like he’s got a sensible head on his shoulders. Maybe he’ll be willing to work to a compromise.” Hux can only hope that much. He hadn’t been all that well inclined before, considering the last time they met, but this time… there’s been more positive than negative. Necessity, and all.

“They’re good kids. All of them… I wasn’t sure we’d be able to get through to them, but… we have. And they talk sense, too. I’m sure there’s several of them that could actually push for some reform within the Republic, if you gave them time, and support.”

Hux peers around the door, watching as Rey speaks with Finn. There’s obvious camaraderie already between them, and it makes him feel warm to know how fast they’re both willing to make friends. 

“What about the Invaders?” he asks, when he’s finished admiring the warm conversation that floats out towards them.

“I think we’ve made the best case we can for them to leave. If they were capable of empathy, and understanding, what we did today would be the best chance at negotiating. Otherwise, we’d have to offer them something, and it’s something I doubt we’re able to give.”

“I don’t think they mean us harm, but I also don’t think they considered us to be suffering, not before we… whatever we did.”

“Only time will tell, but I really, really hope we’ll be immortalising this day, next year.”

Hux slides his arm through Kylo’s. “Come on. We’re hosting this party. Let’s show them what a party _is_.”

“In here?”

“It might be the only one they ever get.”

“…true.”

***

They haven’t even broken out much booze, really. They hadn’t had time to get anything other than the single bottle, but the mood had been enough to get everyone intoxicated on success, and emotional bonding. 

Somehow, somewhere along the line, it had been agreed that everyone would just spend the night. Blankets and coats and boots all turned into bedding, and their small living area was filled with soldiers. 

Hux gets up in the middle of the night to take a leak, and has to wait for Dasser to finish up. Awkward smiles, and when he’s finally relieved himself, he looks at the collection of snoring heads and moving sides. 

Nazia’s reaching for Dasser when he rejoins the puddle, and Hux is surprised to see them curl into one ball. Rey seems to have turned Finn into a pillow, because her head is resting on the small of his back. No one’s self-conscious, and everyone seems… happy.

He wonders if it’s a side-effect of all being inside one another’s heads, and if that will ever wear off, or if it’s forever eroded a layer of distance. He’s not sure, but he crawls back into bed with Kylo, and smiles when he’s kissed on the forehead. He’d have enjoyed some time with just his lover, but he’ll get that, later.

They needed this. 

“This was a good idea,” he tells Kylo’s collarbone, kissing it without trying to spark anything. It would feel wrong to… well. To get intimate when there’s so many people in the next room along.

“Yeah. It was.” Arms crush him into a tighter hug, and he laughs and kicks until he can get air.

***

In the morning, people wake up a little sheepishly, and Hux realises they don’t know what to do next. “You might want to dismiss the standing squadron in our living room, before they explode from confusion.”

“Good point. We don’t have enough breakfast for all of them.”

Hux watches as Kylo walks through, telling them all when to re-assemble, and there’s a steady trickle out of only slightly awkward soldiers.

The two who remain, though, are Rey and Poe. They aren’t part of their squadron, and are here as visitors. 

Poe’s stripped to his cargo pants and a simple vest shirt, and Rey’s wearing much the same. They linger on couches as everyone files out, and Hux goes to sit with them, bringing mugs of caf once it’s no longer rude to refuse the others.

“One hell of a team you’ve got,” Poe enthuses, thanking Hux for his mug. “The cohesion is flawless. I’m surprised you haven’t had more friction.”

“The Order tends to discourage friction,” Hux points out, “…and the Republic soldiers we brought along were those who were keen to make it work. It’s helped a lot.”

“And having you two,” Rey says, with an odd look. “You have a skill with people.”

“Breaking people,” Hux replies.

“And fixing them,” Kylo adds, with some fierceness.

“Yeah. Really, if anyone was gonna help these kids find their way, it had to be people who’d been there, like you two,” Poe muses aloud. “I mean, you know what they’ve had to put up with, and you’ve seen what’s _possible_.”

“Only because the Resistance was… welcoming,” Kylo says, looking away.

“We put you in a freaking cell, Kylo. I don’t think most of us were as welcoming as we could be.” Poe looks a little guilty, then.

Oh, Hux had never considered that. 

“You had your reasons. I wasn’t exactly friendly, and I _was_ very dangerous. We’d have done far worse if we captured you,” Kylo reminds him.

“Still.” Poe shrugs. “If we do this right, it won’t even be a problem in a year’s time, or five.”

“There’s hope,” Rey agrees. “How has Nazia been?”

“She’s finding her feet again,” Kylo answers. “It was a big shock to her, losing people she’d lived and trained with for most of her life. I don’t think she’ll ever be a brown-robe Jedi, but… we can definitely keep her.”

Hux looks at the distance between the two guests. Rey’s body-language doesn’t look uncomfortable around him, but it’s a companionable, friendly distance. If they did try to date while they’ve been gone, it didn’t work out. If they tried and failed, it’s been an amicable break up.

A pity, because he’s gotten rather fond of the pilot, but you can’t control love. 

“How’s the Republic doing?” Hux asks.

“Busy,” Poe admits. “We’ve been having… well. Cultural difficulties with our Order staff. Nothing unpleasant, just… there’s a chasm of misunderstanding, and we seem to keep falling into it.”

“It’s so different for them. Even for _me_ ,” Rey admits. “It’s like a whole different way of life.”

“But you’re okay?” Kylo asks. “Both of you?”

“Yeah…” Poe nods, and then looks to Rey, respectfully.

“Yes. It’s a lot to take in, but everyone’s doing their best.”

There’s a sudden trill of slightly unsynchronised beeping, as all their comm units go off at once. Kylo leaps over the back of the couch to grab his, his face draining. “Okay. We need to get to the command suite. They won’t say good or bad, but _something_ has happened. And we need to know what.” 


	71. Chapter 71

The command suite is buzzing before they even enter. Hux finds himself worrying the sides of his fingers with his nails, pulling at the skin, trying not to split them bloody. It’s just – it’s so _important_. It’s huge. And he feels a rising burn of acid in his throat, and like everything is too bright, too loud, too… _too_. 

“What if they aren’t leaving?” he asks, not liking how insecure his voice sounds. Not sounds – _is_. Not because he doesn’t want Kylo to know he’s anxious, but because he doesn’t want to feel it.

“I think it’s going to be okay,” Kylo reassures him. 

How strange everything feels. Once – not so long ago – he’d been the one in control. He’d been the one _faking_ control, anyway. Pretending he was a ‘normal’ member of the Resistance, when secretly he didn’t like if anyone looked at him too long, or touched him. 

It had all been a fabulous front.  

But it hadn’t been _him_. Or – well – he’d been himself, but behind closed doors. Now, the parts of him that are more afraid, more anxious, more… fallible… other people see that. And it’s okay.

More than anything, he’s proud of Kylo. From someone battered from Master to Master, fighting just to survive, to this… this commander of armies, this maker of plans, and this rounded, kind, giving man. If Hux feels nothing else, he’ll always be beyond proud that he helped Kylo find this in himself.

Leia and the Republic leaders aren’t in the room, but their holo-likenesses are. Hux walks to one of the recorders, and Kylo stands beside him, so everyone can see and be seen. Rey and Poe huddle to one side, but it’s Mitaka who waves them forwards. (So he is keen on inclusion. Good to know.)

The person who speaks is Admiral Ackbar, the veteran of more battles than most sentient beings alive. His skin is blue-greened by the holo-emitters, and his large eyes turn to make everyone feel included. 

“Thank you all for coming. I wanted you to be the first to know: our long-range scouts have recorded a retreat of the enemy forces.”

Retreat. One word, and Hux can’t even think. It’s just… so relieving. It’s everything. Everything, and somehow he knows it means the rest, too. They’ve never retreated, not before the last battle. This is it. 

“Where to?”

“It seems their fleet is mustering at their point of entry to our galaxy. We do not know beyond that.”

There’s a moment of murmuring, and glances to either side.

“They could be fortifying their existing stronghold,” Mitaka points out. “Rallying together isn’t necessarily retreat.”

“That’s correct,” Leia replies. “However, this is the first time they have ever moved _back_. This is a victory, even if it’s a small one.”

“This is when we should push,” says one of the other Order Lieutenants. Hux doesn’t recognise them. “We need to show we are resolute, and hit them while their morale is low.”

“Absolutely not,” Hux jumps in, surprising himself by his sudden vehemence. “We attempted a negotiation.”

“You don’t even speak their _language_ ,” comes a Republic dissenter. “Do they even speak?”

“We communicated through the Force.” Kylo’s jaw sets. “We expressed our concerns to them, we have to give them a chance to decide, not fight fire with more fire.”

“The longer we leave it, the more powerful they become,” Mitaka argues. “They could be working on ways to shield against our new weapons. They could be regrouping to stage a new, co-ordinated offensive.”

“They could be,” Luke says, speaking for the first time. His tone is calming, but not by any means weak. 

It’s interesting, watching everyone look at him. Hux finds himself watching their faces, rather than Luke’s. He knows the man better than most people (who aren’t already related to him, or training under him), and so he doesn’t need to see his expression. 

Even the Order soldiers pay him a begrudging respect. Either he’s inherited the reverence that Snoke held, or it’s simply the title of Master Jedi that – even now – hangs like a medallion of authority and knowledge around his shoulders.

“They could be regrouping to fight, but if they are, we would gain very little from pressing immediately. We have suffered our own losses in the battle. We would risk the chance of them leaving with no further bloodshed, for a very small tactical gain.”

“It’s still a gain,” mutters a Bothan.

“It’s a huge risk,” Leia says, a little more sharply.

“And not only that, but what message do we want to broadcast? One of bloody vengeance, or one of forgiveness, and progress?” Luke asks.

Which is when everyone conveniently forgets they have eyes again. Hux is sure they’re all thinking about their previous hatreds, of all the crimes they want to get reparation for. But on the flipside, they have to – surely by now – realise that they’re expected to pay their own dues, as much as get what they think they’re owed?

Right?

“How long should we give them?” says Mitaka, after a long pause, his jaw twitching as he meets the image of Luke Skywalker. “We can’t hold out indefinitely, or do you plan to wait for another attack?”

“I would advise we prepare for an attack, but make no hostile moves. Wait. If they do not retreat, and do not advance, we will try to speak to them again.”

“Are we all in agreement?” Ackbar asks.

“I’d like to confer with some people,” Mitaka admits.

“And I agree, we can’t decide this so quickly,” the Bothan agrees. 

“Very well,” says Leia Organa. “We will reconvene in three standard hours, unless further information comes to light.” 

And just like that, the war council is dismissed.

***

Walking back to their rooms feels odd. It’s now a waiting game, and Hux feels the weight of the future bearing down on him. The clip of their heels on the deckplate is soothing, and he realises they’ve fallen into stride with one another. That’s nice to know, and he smiles across to Kylo.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Hux… don’t give me that. What are you smiling about?”

“…it’s silly,” he says, and fights the urge to loop their arms together. “I was just happy.”

Rey and Poe have gone back to their ships, and back to the Republic fleet. Barring any emergencies, they have some downtime. Hux can’t help but feel a little thrill of lust spike through him, and he smirks his way front-and-centre.

“You’re adorable,” Kylo complains. 

“I am not.”

“You are. And you’re going to tell me what you’re smiling about.”

“Can’t a man just be happy he hasn’t been blown into a million, billion pieces?”

“You’re not blown into a million, billion pieces every day of your life so far.”

“So I should be _very_ happy.”

Kylo laughs, and swipes their rooms open. “Fine. Okay. I’m also glad you aren’t blasted to bits.”

“It would put a dampener on our relationship,” Hux agrees, and lunges at him. Arms around his neck, and he feels Kylo teeter for a moment before they swing in a lazy circle.

“You’re feeling _frisky_ ,” Kylo says, accusing even as his nose slides against Hux’s own.

“I didn’t get you to myself last night.”

“Well, the party was at least half your idea.”

“I’m not complaining, but your husband-to-be has needs.” He demonstrates these needs by parting his legs, moving them to interlock with Kylo’s own, grinding against his thigh.

Hux’s arms stay draped over Kylo’s shoulders, and his lover’s hands move to grip and squeeze his ass. It’s a simple gesture, but it makes Hux’s blood bubble with the promise involved, and he pushes his lips to the edge of his jaw, growling and kissing over the sensitive patch of skin he knows will make him go mad.

“I apologise for being remiss in assisting you with those.”

“So you should. I think you should make it up to me, don’t you?”

He can _feel_ Kylo’s pulse quicken, under his lips. They’ve not really played at power games for a while, but it’s always fun when they do.

“How may I prove my sincerity to you… Sir?”

Hux bites on his earlobe, tugging it down, and thinks loudly: _Kneel for me._

The tall man moves like a liquid, pouring to his knees. The hands on his ass slide down his thighs and calves for support, and Kylo Ren kneels, looking up adoringly at him. He leans in close to one hip, but doesn’t touch. His fingers curled around Hux’s calves, his eyes full of hope.

“ _Yes, Master_.”

The word is like the sweetest syrup sliding over the hardest durasteel fist. Hux’s hair prickles from his neck, a cold tide of arousal making everything **pop**. He grabs a fist full of soft, bouncy hair, and drags him away from his crotch. 

With his other hand, he reaches for his belt, taking care to pull the tail end from the buckle slowly. His fingers caress the metal, and he can hear every crackle of the nerf-hide as he slips the tongue from the holes. Kylo’s eyes want to look down, but he won’t break Hux’s gaze. That earns him a smile, even as he sinks his teeth into his lower lip as his hand pushes fabric away, and the slight chill of the room greets his rising interest.

“Are you a good boy?”

A tiny flicker of something not wholly pleasant, and Hux yanks harder on his hair, making his head tilt back to accommodate.

“I… try to be.”

That’s honest, and also all anyone can really ask. “Do you think you deserve to suck me?”

Now his eyes look down, his jaw shaking around the emotional sincerity. Does he? Is this a game? It is more than a game. It’s always been more than a game.

“I think that is your decision, Master.”

“I asked your opinion. It is still my decision, but I want to know if you think you do, or not.”

Hux leaves his cock alone for the moment, stroking fingertips over Kylo’s brow. He wants him to answer, but he knows it can take time.

“I try to be,” Kylo says, eventually. “I try to be worthy of you. Of your love for me, of your goodness. I try to be who you deserve. I think… you probably deserve better than me, but I hope I’m good _enough_.”

“You are _more_ than good enough,” Hux insists, and he grabs his ears, one in each hand, turning his face firmly up and waiting for eye-contact. “You aren’t perfect, but no one is. You are _more_ than enough. You are a better man than you’ll ever realise.”

Kylo breaks the contact several times, looking down, then back up again. He’s fighting an internal battle, and the thumbs that stroke below his eyes are blaster-scorch. 

“You are everything to me,” he whispers, his tone reverent as he looks up. “I would do anything for you. Anything you asked.”

“Will you forgive yourself, then?” Hux feels the weight of the question the minute he asks it.

“Hux, please don’t—“

“If you love me, and you want to do everything I say: you’ll accept you’re good enough, at least in my eyes. If you trust my judgement, then that should be enough.”

There’s a clear explosion in Kylo’s head as he tries to parse and understand the implications. He grabs the hands holding him, and thinks: _don’t_. 

“Kylo…”

_Please. Don’t._

“I love you. I love you, and you _are_ enough.” This was supposed to just be love-sport, but seemingly from nowhere, his lover needs this reassurance.

_I’m not sure I can feel what you want me to._

_You don’t have to feel enough. You just have to feel you know I know it._

It’s a bit unwieldy, but then Kylo throws himself at Hux. Not even sexually, he just grabs his waist and shoves his face into his hip. Wracking, bone-deep shudders, and Hux combs a hand through his hair, over his scalp. 

“You are wonderful, Kylo.”

“I… I… can accept you think so.”

“Kylo…”

“I’m sorry. I can’t just… magically think I’m… I’m trying. It’s easier, but I still…” _Wobble_.

Hux pulls him to his hip tighter, his fingers working at the back of his skull. “You can wobble. You can wobble all you need, as long as you never forget I adore you. All of you.”

A muffled voice, tickling his leg: “Even when I have stupid freak outs?”

“Even then.”

A pause, and the moment stretches. _You could always punish me?_

“I intend to.”

The sudden vibration against his leg tells him it’s very, very much wanted, and long, long overdue.


	72. Chapter 72

Hux should have realised sooner, but the effort of being In Control has worn Kylo almost to the quick. He’s been running so much, responsible for so many lives, and now he’s cracking because no one but Hux can see. 

It makes a whole lot of sense, and Hux really does wonder why he didn’t notice this before. 

Kylo turns when he’s told, and crawls to the foot of the bed. The hand on his neck hoists him to bend over the edge, and two belts make light work of his wrists, spreading his shoulders wide and wanting. His clothing lies discarded to one side, his pale skin gleaming under the artificial lights. The scar-lines glint, and Hux’s fingers trace old hurts as he gets Kylo’s pulse hammering harder.

He makes light work of his own clothes, stripping down to just his boxers, and Kylo clenches and whimpers as he waits. 

The anticipation is half the fun at least.

His lover is truly beautiful. His shoulders are broad and strong, his hair a cloud of dark curls, like a wind-whipped ocean-top. His fingers claw and stretch, and his legs arch from ankle up to ass, and his feet paw nervously as he waits. How long would he wait? Hux isn’t sure. He’d beg, eventually, when his patience thinned more than his resolve and pride. He’d beg, and Hux would be helpless to resist him.

Hux lets his fingertips swirl over his lower back, then draws ticklishly faint lines up and down his spine. Kylo whines, arching up into the touch, his whole body-language begging before words can be found. 

_Please_.

“In due course.”

Kylo ducks his head, and submits. It’s there, in the sinking dip between his shoulder blades. There, in the tilt of his waist, and the judder in his hips. He’s ready.

Hux grabs the hairbrush, pleased that Kylo’s as obsessive about cleaning it as he is. The long teeth on one side are perfect for running over bare skin, and the flat back is firm enough for a good paddling. It’s not designed for this, but it’s certainly good for it. He drags the spines over his shoulders, and down to his ass. Kylo whimpers, the sound broken from his large ribs. 

_Please, Master. Please punish me._

Kylo’s done nothing that _needs_ punishment, but he still feels it. Frankly, Hux would prefer he never feel he needs it again, but this is a safe place to handle the emotion. Thinking and talking it through helps some, but eventually you feel things that can’t be talked away, no matter how hard you try.

“I will. I will, and you will count every blow.”

Kylo nods, the bed wobbling under him.

“And if it gets too much, you _will_ tell me.”

He knows Kylo almost certainly _won’t_ tell him, but he still has to try to make him take that responsibility. Hux will pay attention to his responses, and stop if he thinks it’s too much. Up and down, and he turns the brush sideways to drag just a hint of the edge between his buttocks. 

_Yes, Master_.

He turns the brush, flipping it in his palm, and brings the square of it down, hard. It makes the tight bun wobble slightly, and when he lifts it, there’s a faint pink mark already.

Hux doesn’t need to know _what_ he needs punishing for, the fact he needs it is enough. Kylo barely makes a sound at the first swat, and then Hux starts to build up a rhythm. He varies which cheek he strikes, keeping the intensity roughly even for the majority of strokes. A few are harder, followed by soothingly gentle ones, watching as Kylo’s legs slide further and further apart, only his toes arching himself up for more. He can only imagine his cock is still hard, but when he aims a blow (very, very carefully) at his balls, he’s rewarded by his first audible hiss.

“Good boy,” he says, stroking the teeth of the brush over his sac, knowing even the softest of touches will still sting. His other hand plays with his hair, gauging his response.

“Please,” Kylo begs. “I’m – I need – please… more?”

“Yes. Because I love you. Remember that: this is because I _love you_.”

Kylo judders, and Hux works the paddle over his upper thighs, ignoring his reddening ass for now. He can take quite a hammering there, and he knows from the shifts in breathing, and the way he sways, that Kylo is floating on the endorphins, now. The pain is becoming nothing but pleasure, and he has to time his strikes to keep him in that zone.

There’s no cruelty in it, though he does take a perverse sort of pride in making him hiss and gasp. He can see the marks left behind from the power in his right arm, and he sees it as a gift, not a real punishment. He’s not taking out his anger, he’s taking away Kylo’s distress.

Eventually, the noises go, and Kylo’s left, dropped into the bed. Hux has never seen him so far gone before, but he knows the pain isn’t hurting him, not now. He also knows that more wouldn’t help him, because he’s reached the peak. With care, he puts the brush aside and helps Kylo up and onto the bed. His limbs are sluggish, but he crawls onto the mattress and scrunches his knees under himself. 

His cock is a little full, but Hux doesn’t even know if he can come. He seems to be somewhere else in his head, and when he unfastens the belts, his lover just drops down.

With some care, he turns Kylo’s face. His eyes are shut, but his expression is soft, dreamy. Murmured un-words splodge out from his lips, and Hux lies facing him. He urges Kylo onto his side, and strokes a hand over his flank. 

Kylo _really_ isn’t with it. Hux is still hard, but he doesn’t need to use it. He’d like to, but it would feel wrong to use Kylo when he’s not properly with it. Instead, he pulls his head under his chin, and strokes him until the man falls asleep.

***

When the comm goes, Hux jumps, and realises he’d fallen asleep. He has no idea what day it is, or what time, and for a minute he’s just adrift in a massive universe, confused and lost.

Eventually he remembers that datapads display the date and time, and he reaches behind for one. 

“There’s a meeting called. Command only. Ten minutes,” he croaks.

Kylo still looks slightly dopey, but he nods. “We better get dressed, then.”

“I wasn’t planning on meeting the high command like this.”

“Good,” Kylo smirks. “Your ass is just for me.”

***

The mood this time is even more tense, and half the holos are lit up, with a few obvious holes on both sides. People trickle in, and low, muted conversation wanders back and forth sporadically as they wait. 

Eventually, it’s the appointed time, and the few blank holes are left to stay blank.

“Twenty minutes ago, both fleets were met with a single Invader ship,” Admiral Ackbar starts off. “They appeared in front of the flagships, and made no attempt to open fire, or hail us.”

“But they only sent one to each?” Hux asks.

“Yes. Medium-sized ships,” Mitaka answers. 

“No attempt to hail at _all_?” someone else asks.

“I think they want us to go out to them…” Kylo says, hesitantly. His eyes flicker to Nazia, Rey, and Luke. “I can feel them.”

“Yes, they are calling, but not through traditional means,” Luke agrees. “I believe they want to negotiate with us.”

“With those of you with the Force,” Mitaka says, sounding unimpressed. “Why should you four speak for the whole galaxy?”

“We could take you with us,” Nazia reassures him. “We could take a few of our key leaders, and two Force-sensitives, to each ship.”

“That risks all our Jedi, and… you,” Ematt says, his eyes flicking between Nazia and Kylo.

“Three of us already went,” Rey reminds him. “It’s no more risky, though if we take senior leaders…”

Mitaka stares right at Leia. “What do you intend on doing?”

“I trust my brother,” she replies, sincerely. “If he goes, I trust him to speak for the Republic, and I would hope the other leaders do, too.”

Nazia glances to Mitaka. “Do you trust me?”

“I do, it’s just…”

“Let us do this,” she pleads. “It could mean no more deaths.”

“…I’m still sending a small group with you,” he insists. 

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do,” Kylo agrees.

***

Hux is oddly calm, now. He’s sure this is going to work, and it’s the kind of sure that makes his head slightly bubbly, like he’s had a couple of beers. He, Kylo, Nazia and Phasma are in a small shuttle. Nazia is at the helm, and Hux is trying not to be intimidated by the woman in chromium. She’s very, very tall, and it’s hard to talk to her in seriousness when she won’t remove the helmet, and all he can see is his own distorted face, reflected back at him.

“How has your time with the Republic been?” he asks, trying for small talk.

“Unsettling. You are very disorganised.”

“We prefer ‘adaptive’,” Hux jokes.

“You are very disorganised,” she repeats, her head tilting.

“Don’t mind Phas,” Nazia says, not looking over her shoulder. “She is just married to the job.”

“I was merely answering him honestly,” she says, with no apology in her tone.

“And I appreciate it,” Hux insists. 

Kylo points. “There. They’ve opened somewhere for us to land.”

Phasma’s armour shuffles, just a little.

“Don’t worry,” Hux says, as reassuringly as he can. “It’s going to be okay.”

She pulls harder to attention. “I am not worried.”

“Good,” he says, knowing it’s a lie, and knowing he would have felt the same, too.

***

Once they land, Nazia and Kylo look… oddly haunted. 

“We don’t need to disembark. I can already feel them. Is everyone ready?” Kylo asks.

“What do you need me to do?” the Captain asks in reply.

“Just… relax your mind, don’t fight… _there_.”

It’s much faster, now. Not as fast as when they’re in private, but it’s not a chore for the two Force-users, this time around. Phasma is a confused corner, trying to wall herself up, and Hux hopes she doesn’t panic too much.

All of a sudden, there’s four of those almost-people projections in the room. They’re clearly not corporeal, but projections from the Invaders as they try to communicate.

One handless arm waves, and a picture of the galaxy shows. It’s a bit odd in places, and there are no colours, just light and dark. The arm drags a gesture through it, sectioning off the places they already occupy. It darkens that, and leaves the rest glowing. 

“I think… they’re asking if they can keep what they took?” Nazia suggests.

“I think so, too.” Kylo walks closer, and puts the image of a Republic X-Wing and a TIE above the still-lit places. With some effort, he makes an image of their ships above the section they’ve carved off.

The room ripples at the edges, like a heat-haze. The four figures confer silently, and then they make more of their own ships above the dark space. They seem to fly off, and come back. They repeat this several times. 

“They want to use that as a base, and explore away from us?” Hux guesses.

“Are we going to allow them to do that?”

“Why not?” Kylo asks. “We can survive with the rest of the galaxy that we have. If they no longer kill us, but we find some way to co-exist… that would work for me.”

“I think… I think it’s in the best interests of the Order,” Nazia says. “Captain, do you agree? Mitaka sent you to ratify any decision we make.”

She squirms, but nods. “Yes. We can. If they do not attack us any more. But how do we communicate that?”

Kylo turns to Hux, and holds his hand out. “Shake with me?” 

Ah, yes, that makes sense. “Show them the gesture is a friendly one,” Hux explains, as they all trade shakes. Once they’re done exchanging them together, they turn to the four figures.

Hux holds out his hand, and although it’s intangible, the shadow echoes the gesture, and then the world shimmers again, and they’re gone.

“…that was the weirdest negotiation ever,” Kylo says, shuddering. “But I think it went well. Can we call the Republic fleet up, and patch in Mitaka?”

Hux already knows they’ll have done much the same thing. Peace. At last. He can’t stop smiling. 


	73. Chapter 73

“So?” Mitaka asks, his hands obviously wringing where they’re clasped behind his back.

“We’ve agreed a peace, we think,” Kylo replies, finishing his stride just in front of him. 

“You _think_.”

“It appeared very much to be that,” Phasma says, her voice sounding incredulous, still. “They will retain the systems they currently occupy, and no more. And no more hostilities.”

“How did you communicate this?” the Lieutenant asks.

“Visual images. I’m sure when we get the Republic fleet on the line, they’ll confirm a similar arrangement.” Kylo seems so certain, even if his words aren’t. 

Hux can understand it. For those of them who witnessed the discussions, it makes sense, but trying to explain a wordless compromise is a little harder to those who didn’t witness it. 

“The ship has left the system. We should get to the command suite at once.”

***

Rey and Luke, plus a senator and a Republic soldier, tell much the same tale when they conference starts. The Invaders have offered a cessation of hostilities, and the Republic contingent also agreed. 

It’s no consolation to the people who have lost their homeworlds, their families, their lives… but it means no further aggression. 

There’s a long pause before the hard sell is brought up. There will be plenty of people who want to exact their personal revenge, and talking them down from that is going to be difficult. Hux doesn’t envy the Senate and the lawmakers, or the publicity people. They’re going to have to talk people into…

Into…

He looks around at the hopeful faces in the room. For a minute, he’d forgotten they’d been at one another’s throats mere months ago. Zoom back not even a year, and he’d have been executed for stepping foot on the _Finalizer_. There would have been no hope of a civil discussion about laws, or PR. 

That’s when Mitaka catches his shocked expression, and it must hit him, too.

“We do have one other thing to discuss,” the Lieutenant says, turning his attention back to the holo-images. “A lasting peace between the Republic and the Order. I believe we’ve demonstrated we can find enough common ground, now. Perhaps we could work on the control and media release together, and once that’s done… we could sign our own accords?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Leia says, her face creasing with pleasure. “It also won’t be easy, but at least we all speak Basic.”

“Yeah, laws written in hand-gestures never go down well,” her husband drawls. 

And that… is that.

***

Kylo summons the squadron up for one final time, but he and Hux get there well ahead of when the others are due. Kylo sits on a pile of training mats, his fingers working at the loose seam of the uppermost one. 

“We might never see them again,” he says, when the words become too much to hold inside.

“We’ll see anyone who wants to see us,” Hux argues. “And I’m sure most of them will. You got them all through this. Every last one of them.”

“…I did, didn’t I?” Huge, brown eyes look from under a sudden tumble of hair. “We… really did something. For everyone.”

“ _Everyone_.” Order, Republic, Resistance… even their new alien… ‘friends’. If you can call them that. Un-enemies. 

“It… almost makes up for the bad.” 

“I’d say it more than makes up for it.” 

Hux leans back against the bulkhead, and smiles as Nazia, Dasser, and Finn all walk in.  They nod, but the smiles show they already know. If they didn’t, they’d work it out pretty quickly from the happy expressions of their co-commanders, anyway.

“The others are right behind us,” Finn reassures them.

And how different things are. When they’d started, the First Order staff had often needed prompting to speak at all, when not faced with a direct question. Finn had been one of the first to speak up, but even the shyer ones will open up to them, now.

“It’s still early,” Hux points out, in case he’s feeling uneasy. No one is about to be reprimanded, not now. Not that they’ve needed it. Kylo’s command style has been more of a ‘that’s wrong, here’s why, but you can learn’ style, instead of bawling at them.

How much of that must have come from him seeing how _not_ to lead, Hux muses. He could easily have followed in the footsteps that broke him, could have redoubled down misery on his own subordinates, but he’d chosen, instead, to make a clean break of it.

The rest of their squadron files in, and they take up semi-formal positions around the training room. They’re obviously eager to hear it from the official source, and they wriggle with impatience.

“We’ve brokered a truce,” Kylo launches into. “Our attempts at communicating obviously were successful. Two delegates approached: one to our fleet, one to the Republic fleet. We negotiated, and the Invaders will maintain their position on the worlds they have taken, and advance no further.”

“They’re not going away?” Rouk sounds confused.

“They’re not, but they’ve ceased hostilities. Considering we don’t even share the same physical form as them, and we can’t even speak their language, I think it is a successful outcome.”

That’s when Hux realises both sides have only ever considered one real way to end a war satisfactorily: to ‘win’ by defeating the opposition. That’s what they were gunning for, and it’s… sad, in a way.

“We won’t lose any more lives, or worlds,” Hux reminds them. “And we’ve gained a potential ally, once we work out ways to communicate with them. It’s been a long time since we’ve had to learn a new method of communication, but it’s worth it. Think of all the new things we could learn from one another.”

And he totally hadn’t thought through the second implication, but when Finn speaks, he does.

“So… the alliance is over?”

“Not quite. Lieutenant Mitaka is working with the Republic on legislation to prevent retaliatory attacks breaking the diplomatic solution, and then he wants to broker a peace between our sides. A real, lasting peace.” Kylo says this with a slight air of melancholy.

“You’re not happy?” Dasser asks.

“I am happy we worked together so well, and we got what we were fighting for… but I’ll be sad if this is the end of our team.”

Hux smiles, seeing the very real pain in Kylo’s eyes. It’s a bittersweet feeling, knowing they’ve succeeded. Knowing they’ve outlived their usefulness. 

“…if they’re signing a treaty, we… don’t need to split up though, do we?” Dasser looks shaken. “We can still work as one unit?”

“There won’t be any war for us to fight,” Finn points out. “There’ll be some need for soldiers, but… nothing like what we have, now.”

“What will happen to us?” Sticks looks alarmed. “We don’t know how to do anything but fight!”

“That will need to be taken into consideration,” Kylo agrees. “But there are law enforcement agencies. There’s also jobs flying ships with cargo, or for pleasure. Charted flights. There’s all sorts of careers you could go into, and the Republic can help with that.”

“Mitaka won’t let everyone demob,” Hux muses aloud. “In case he feels he needs to defend the Order, though I can see private employment, and orders to return to service in an emergency?”

Which makes the Order staff squirm.

Ah, yes. “You can train for other jobs, you know. But I’m merely speculating about the future.”

“We’ll support you,” Kylo adds. “If you want our help, that is. We didn’t come here just to use you as weapons. We came here to make something work for everyone.”

“We’ll help, too,” Dasser says. “If we can help, we’d love to.” His eyes clock the Republic soldiers, who all nod. “We’re a unit. We look out for one another.”

“I’d also like to say what an honour it’s been, working with you all.” Kylo’s voice wavers, just slightly. “This… this has been a privilege. You’re all incredibly brave, and I couldn’t have asked for a better team. We had our difficulties, of course, but I’ve learned something from every one of you.”

“Hear, hear,” Nazia calls. “You’ve been a better leader now, and I didn’t think you could improve, but you proved me happily wrong.”

“Okay, you’re going to make him cry,” Hux laughs. Hells, he’s going to cry. “Promise me you’ll keep in touch with us. No matter what happens…”

There’s murmured assent, and then everyone starts clapping arms, shoulders, backs… it feels awful to say goodbye, even though they aren’t doing it just yet. But it doesn’t feel like a forever goodbye.

***

Back in their rooms, and Hux is already feeling like they’re leaving. It could be weeks, but the deal is on the table, now. It’s over. They won. 

Snoke is dead. The Invaders are no longer invading, and it’s…

“You ever wonder how we got so far?” Kylo asks, his fingers trailing over the back of the couch.

“Frequently. In great depth.”

“Did you… I mean…”

Hux moves to sit on the couch, and pats the cushion beside him. Kylo comes around, settling down, and puts his head on his shoulder. “You can ask. Whatever it is… you can ask.”

“Did you ever think… we’d even be friends? Or did you think… you’d just break me back for my mother?”

“Right at the start, I wasn’t even looking for a friend. Anywhere. I was just my job.” He pushes his fingers into Kylo’s soft hair, tugging gently. “My first impression of you… was that you’d be a tough case to crack. You had training, you were… uh… fanatical…”

Kylo snorts just a little, and Hux kisses his cheek. “Half right.”

“All right. You were fanatical, but not to his _cause_. To your own survival. That was the crux of it: you were so adamant because you had to be. Once I found that distinction, I understood you. You made sense, all at once.”

His fiancé nods, and burrows in closer. “I didn’t fully know myself. Not until you forced it out of me. So much of my life was based upon survival, that I didn’t stop to question it, or think about it.”

“It wasn’t safe for you to do so, you do realise, don’t you?”

“I do _now_.”

Hux holds him tighter. “I’m sorry it took me so long to… understand you. I’m sorry it took us so long to rescue you.”

Kylo grabs his hand. “You were worth the wait. I’d have preferred not to have to wait… but having you at the end of it…”

That hits like a punch to the sternum, and he leaps onto Kylo’s lap, holding his shoulders and kissing him senseless. All that pain. All that pain he’ll never be able to go back and undo. All he _can_ do is kiss him, now, and love him for all the rest of their days together.

Breathless, shaking, he rests his forehead against Kylo’s. 

“My first impressions of you were wrong,” he says, through that tightness in his chest. “But I’m pretty sure I know you, now.”

“Yeah,” Kylo agrees, his arms around his waist. “I think so, too.”


	74. Chapter 74

**Three months later**

Hux should, by all accounts, be wearing his dress uniform. He’s still technically part of the now-Republic forces, even if he’s seconded to the medical unit to advise on the after-effects of battle and traumatic indoctrination. 

A medic. Well, not completely a medic. He’s still not a doctor by any means, but it’s so far from what he’d expected his career would be, as a small child. An officer. A soldier. Instead, he sues for peace, and he helps those who are wounded by the wars. The rank isn’t important to him: he’s _Hux_. 

He would feel wrong wearing the dress uniform. It’s only used for formal occasions, and Hux has been to more funerals than he has weddings. Plus, he doesn’t want to make either Kylo, or any of their First Order guests uncomfortable, even if it’s only slightly. So there’s a ban on uniforms, and everyone’s instructed to wear whatever civilian clothing they feel like, with no formal rules.

“Would you stop fussing?” Rey asks.

“I just…”

“You want to be perfect,” she says, and swats his hands away from his clothing. “But you already are.”

“Don’t.” He might cry if she keeps that up. He might cry anyway. He’s never been prone to public emotion, but this is threatening to be the end of him. 

He’s marrying the love of his life. They made it through two wars, countless kidnappings and firefights. They _made it_. Despite Snoke, despite his father, despite the Invaders, despite everything. Somehow, they started out on opposite sides, then they both switched, then Hux brought him home.

Then they _both_ brought the whole Order home. Okay, so it wasn’t only them, but they were definitely instrumental in that.

But it’s Kylo – selfishly – that he’s glad for most of all. They still have bad days, and they argue over some things, but it’s the normal disagreements of life. No couple is ever without a difference of opinion, but there’s significantly more good than bad. He has a partner who wants the best for him, and who he’d willingly give the galaxy to. Someone who knows all about him – even the less pleasant bits – and who still loves him. Someone he can lie on top of when he’s had a bad day, and someone whose pain would make his own lessen, would cut through his own mire to give him the strength to comfort him.

Someone he can laugh with. Someone he can watch shitty holos with. Someone who will tell him if an outfit looks atrocious, and then find him an even worse one to laugh some more at him. Someone who can’t bake to save his life, but who knows how to do things with a knife and a pile of meat and veg that makes Hux’s eyes water. 

He’s got him, forever, and yes… he’s crying. He’s not even gotten to the ceremony, and he’s crying.

Rey grabs his forearms, and smiles up at him. “You Nerf. Come on, save the tears for the real thing. I’m not that mean, am I?”

“Pretty mean,” he sniffles.

She grabs her sleeve and wipes it over his cheeks. “Well, let me be mean one last time. You can cry once the vows are done.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.”

***

Rey is his ring-bearer, and Nazia is Kylo’s. It had taken some negotiation to work out what they would ask all their friends to do, which was when Hux had realised just how _many_ close friends they had. 

Poe organised the party, which Hux is still getting flashes of. It’s not that he’s blocked things out, so much as that flashes of it keep coming back. The drunken flight sim had definitely been a high point. Kylo had taken perverse pleasure in flying his ship into everyone else’s, taking them out and his own sim, too. 

The hall is filled mostly with people Hux knows well, though there’s several ranks of Republic senators and high ups who Kylo’s had to include, for diplomatic reasons. Hux is pretty sure the scale of the wedding has never been equalled, not since Leia Organa and Han Solo, at least.

Leia and Luke stand at the top of the room, ready to conduct the ceremony together. It felt right to ask them together. Han and Chewie organised the flyover, with Poe and Snap’s assistance. The Order people sit alongside Republic people. Although Hux did jokingly ask if they were inviting any Invaders, no one took him seriously. 

And here they all are. Hux at the left of the room, Kylo at the right. Their guests to one side, the children of Anakin Skywalker waiting for them. He’s surrounded by Force-sensitives (Kylo, Rey, Nazia, Leia and Luke), but he doesn’t feel at all out of place. He’s right where he should be, and he strides to the centre, and holds his hands out to take Kylo’s. 

_Are you ready_?

_Are you kidding? If you back out now, I will kill you, Kylo._

_Good._

They turn to face the officials, still holding hands. 

***

The party is almost surreal. Hux watches as Han and Leia dance, and he hopes they’ll be as happy (and preferably _happier_ ) at that age. Rey is dancing with Finn, and there’s an odd contingent of droids: Threepio, Artoo, and all the pilots’ astromechs are beeping and booping softly. Poe’s stood with them, holding court with a collection of pilots of both sides.

Chewie and Luke are talking to Phasma, which is just bizarre. He’s sure Luke is needed to translate for her, but they all look to be having a good time. Nazia and Mitaka sit close together, and Hux wonders if they’ll be dancing, too, before long. 

Kylo’s holding his hand under the table, and he keeps blushing stupidly. Everyone _knows_ they’re a couple, but it feels weirdly transgressive to be holding hands, and he can’t quite work out why. They’ve danced, eaten, drunk… and now it’s the part of the evening that gears up ready to send them off. 

There’s going to be so many nice holos to remind them of this, but he still tries to memorise the personal, first-hand details. The giant cake, black and orange. The crooning of the live music. The small children shrieking around the corners of the dancefloor, being tsked by Threepio whenever they get near the droid contingent. 

It’s all so peaceful, and joyful, and he loves it.

Hux is excited for what comes next, but he also doesn’t want to leave. He wants the day to go on forever, because… when it’s gone…

Well. He’ll still have Kylo. Which is the important part.

“I do love you,” he says, into Kylo’s neck. The high collar is in the way of any real nibbling, but it will not be in his way when they leave.

“Oh, really? I thought this was all a political marriage.”

“Yes. I’m marrying you for your name and position,” Hux teases.

“I don’t even have the same name I had when we started dating.”

“Well, I’m marrying you to give you mine, obviously.”

“You’re so generous.”

“It’s me. It’s my biggest flaw.” Hux nips at his ear.

“Are you ready to leave?”

“…ynes.”

“…what?”

“Nyo.”

Kylo snorts, and claps a hand over his mouth. Hux isn’t normally one for being this silly, but Kylo brings it out in him. “You’re horrible.”

“Too late to back out, now. Have to give it at least a week before you try to divorce me over wordplay.”

“That’s it. If you’re going to devolve to puns, we’re going. _Now_.”

Hux smirks, okay then.

***

In the hangar, and Hux starts towards the shiny new shuttle, only to feel his own collar grabbed. “Not so fast.”

“You practically threw me over your shoulder, and _now_ you want to slow down?”

“You’re going to the wrong ship.”

“I – what?”

Kylo nods, and then Hux recognises one of the other shuttles.

It’s the one they ran off with, when they left Rey with Luke. It’s… the same one. “You… didn’t?”

“I did.”

It’s so perfect that Hux bursts out something between a snort and a laugh, and then walks quickly to it, ready to skip and jump. 

“Thank me when we’re in hyperspace,” Kylo suggests, as they get to the process of saying goodbye _again_. 

They’re only going away for a few days. He doesn’t know why everyone is so damn emotional.

***

Of course Kylo’s re-decorated with all the puddles of bedding and pillows. It’s a bit more official looking this time, but it’s still one unholy mess of fluff. Hux almost doesn’t want to actually go to the nice place they’ve booked, because what could ever top this?

Hux waddles through to the cockpit, locking in the jump, and then he turns to see Kylo lying on his belly, his feet kicked up above him, stripped to his socks. His nice, deep blue tunic is getting creased, but Hux would rather it was entirely out of the picture, if he’s honest.

He doesn’t move immediately, just catching Kylo’s eyes. He feels such an overwhelming adoration, and he carves this into his brain, too.

“I love you, too,” Kylo says, his head tilting and sending hair that’s laced with tiny gems sliding to one side. He really does look wonderful.

“I’m going to eat you whole.”

“What’s stopping you?”

What indeed. Hux shucks off his fine boots, and then pulls the socks off, too. He unfastens his belt, knowing it will dig into him if he doesn’t, and loosens the clasps at his shoulders. The half cape falls, and then he’s on the bedding, grabbing Kylo’s face in his hands and tugging him upwards and into the kiss. 

Overbalanced, Kylo’s hands land on his thighs. The kiss is messy, full of teeth and banging noses, and then Kylo grabs his waist and – Force knows how – flips them so the Knight is on his back, and Hux goes _floof_ against his chest. Their legs tangle up, and Hux holds Kylo’s hair as they kiss.

Kylo’s mouth tastes of cake, and wine, and the gloss on his lips. Hux tugs at the little beads decorating his tresses, and grinds himself against his lap. He’s giddy again, and the hands on his ass urge him to push harder.

The kissing goes on until Hux can’t breathe, and he pushes his face into the crook of Kylo’s neck. The infernal, beautiful fabric is still in the way, so he reaches to slide the slit down, baring one side of his neck and a shoulder for more kisses, nipping at warm skin as Kylo tries to push his fingers under his waistband. 

Hux lifts his weight up, allowing Kylo to unfasten his pants, and shove his fingers inside. The catch of fingertips on his belly and upper thighs is wonderful, and when Kylo grabs his silky boxers, he nearly screams. Teeth sharper in, and he sucks his cheeks hollow as he tries to mark him up.

_Mine. All mine._

_All yours._

Kylo’s mental voice is dreamy and happy, and Hux pushes one hand under the tunic, skirting over his toned torso. He enjoys the bunched muscle, and he’s tugging an earlobe with his lips as he sits up enough to divest Kylo of said tunic. 

The hands have to leave his groin while the sleeves pull off, and then those hands won’t rest until Hux is also shirtless. Wriggles, giggles, and then they’re…

“Why did you leave your socks on?” Hux asks.

“I don’t know. I… wasn’t thinking? They are very comfortable.”

“They’re coming off.”

“Agreed.”

The socks fly away, and then it’s just pants and boxers. Hux’s are already open, and as he sits back on his haunches, Kylo reaches between them to pull his balls out, stroking over his shaft and running fingers over the head. Hux bites his lip, then crushes the heel of his palm over the bulge in Kylo’s pants. 

“We going to flip for it?” he asks, scraping his nails around the outline in the fabric.

“Or you could ride me until I’m done, and then fuck me full?” Kylo suggests.

Of course. Hux reaches for where they used to keep the lube, pleased to find it still in place. He grabs at Kylo’s waist, plucking fabric, shimmying it over his hips. They both bare down, and then he’s kneeling between Kylo’s thighs, stroking lube over him. “You’re going to need to do the honours and open me up.”

“Gladly.”

Kylo has such wonderful hands. They always know _where_ to touch, and _how_. Hux slides his sticky palms over Kylo’s cock as he feels the tips stroke circles around his hole. Around, around, and then there’s a subtle pressure as he’s penetrated. Deeper, deeper, and Hux arches in delight.

It never gets old. Nothing they do gets old. He could suck Kylo’s cock every day for the rest of his life and enjoy every time. He could ride his dick, or his ass, and never get tired. 

Kylo knows how to keep it just the right side of too much, and then Hux is squirming to get the fingers deeper. Deeper, and they swirl, and he moves to straddle him, holding his shaft in one hand, the other pinching a nipple as a warning, a declaration of love, and a point of balance. He sinks down over the very head, then puts both hands on Kylo’s chest. Thumbs and nails stroking and scraping, and he starts to move, to slide that length deep into himself. It’s not so easy to hit his prostate at this angle, but man does the stretch and spread feel good.

He wants to say something, but nothing really feels adequate. Not to express the balloon of emotion threatening to make him float away. Not to handle the way even the slightest of smiles on Kylo’s face is like a supernova. It’s all too much, and although riding his cock and feeling their bodies so close is glorious, it’s just… part of something so much more.

Kylo’s hands wrap around his cock, and Hux braces himself, riding him. He couldn’t care how they climax, or even if they don’t. Well, he’d prefer to climax than to not, but that’s just… it’s not important. Kylo is important. He smiles at the weird dichotomy of their made-up travel bed, covered in their wedding clothes. 

“I’m yours,” Hux says, breathless and happy.

“And I’m yours.”

He keeps moving until his thighs are trembling, and then Kylo pins him onto his lap, and rolls them over. Hux has to be careful with his legs, but then there’s a relief because Kylo’s thrusting is pressing against his prostate, and his cock swells further with the stroking inside. 

“Come inside me,” Hux begs. “And let me come in you.”

One. Married. United. He holds Kylo’s neck, pulling him in for the kiss even as the flood of his release hits, filling him up. It’s so good, so, so good. He’s still hard, and he only gives Kylo a moment before he forces him onto his back, and grabs more lube. He stays on his cock as he pushes fingers at his entrance, making him whimper at the stimulation. His cock can’t fill so soon, but it twitches inside his ass as he widens him up for entry.

“H-hux…”

“Shh…” He bends inside, poking and prodding until he’s massaging Kylo’s prostate, making his lover’s eyes roll back into his skull. “There… good… so good for me…”

“Gnnnnfh…”

“Going to take you, now. Going to take you, my _husband_.”

Kylo nearly comes again from just the title, and Hux pulls up, feeling his cock slip out, sluicing his release all over his thighs. It’s right that it’s messy.

Hux bends Kylo’s leg up, and guides himself inside. His lover is relaxed and open for him, though aftershocks tense his hole from time to time. Hux won’t manage much longer, not with the cool air on his open hole. Not with Kylo a babbling, pawing mess under him.

He thrusts evenly, fiercely, and watches happy clouds float over Kylo’s face. More kisses, and there’s hands on his ass, trying to beg him to move faster. He gets the picture, and braces himself to use the power he needs to get there. Gasps, cries, and then he steals Kylo’s hands, lacing them together, gazing into his eyes.

 _I fucking love you_. 

Kylo makes a strangled noise, and then Hux’s climax hits him, rushing out like the best release. Him in Kylo, Kylo in him. 

He watches his face for what feels like forever, then drops to kiss him.

 _Forever_.

Hux feels the promise echo between them. Forever. 

He didn’t just fix Kylo, Kylo fixed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Publish, and be damned.
> 
> Thank you - all of you - for coming on this journey with me. Thank you for keeping me going. Thank you for believing.
> 
> I hope you have a wonderful life. Don't be a stranger... I'm still here. :)

**Author's Note:**

> (Quietly says if you're on fumblr you can follow me [@sithofren](http://www.sithofren.tumblr.com) okay bye.)
> 
> Also check out the lovely art from [@doodlingthingies](http://doodlingthingies.tumblr.com) [here](http://sithofren.tumblr.com/post/150611389115/third-degree-art-by-the-lovely-doodlingthingies) (link because NSFW).
> 
> And this [artwork for Chapter Thirteen](http://sakurita94.tumblr.com/post/151664591295/commission-for-sithofren-for-her-wonderful-fic) by @sakitura94!


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